Cat of El Cajon
by bump-in-the-night1990
Summary: "I want you to show off." His voice is low and steady. "Show me that you're confident. Show me speed. Agility." Arya finds herself watching Gendry's full lips as he speaks, mesmerized by every word. "Show me that you know exactly what you're doing. Instinct. Precision."
1. Chapter 1

**A/N **– This is an Arya / Gendry AU Modern fic with some San / San interludes.

**Summary**: Arya grew up watching her older brother Jon race cars, but when she was only twelve, a horrible accident that shook the entire family forced Jon to leave home and never look back. Six years later, Arya, a racer herself, runs away to San Diego. She wants to track down her estranged brother and start racing in a bigger circuit. Things are hard, but then she meets Gendry Waters, a mechanic that's been working on race cars for years, and things begin to get a lot more interesting.

**Characters: **Arya, Gendry, Jon, Sansa, Sandor, Joffrey, Cersei, Jaime, Robert, Eddard, Catelyn, Robb, Bran.

**Rating: **T for now. Might be M-rated later on.

**Warning: **This is a slow burn people. If you stick with me, I promise you'll be satisfied, but if you're looking for a quick read- this isn't your story.

**Cat of El Cajon**

Arya speeds down the highway, shifting the gears of her Nissan 300zx, and swerving between cars going too slow her taste. The California sun beats hot and steady through her windows as she races down the long roads. It's an eighteen-hour trip from Bozeman, Montana to San Diego, California. She did the first leg yesterday, ten hours straight, hands loosely clutching the leather wheel, wind whipping at her face, music blasting from the stereo. And now, on her second day, she's only an hour away from her destination.

Her parents think she's attending the University of San Diego. When the acceptance letter came in the mail last spring, her father smiled and ruffled her messy brown hair. Her mother wasn't as happy. "Jon lives in San Diego," she said, her tone sharp and cutting.

Arya chewed her lip before responding. "I know, but-"

"I don't want you involving yourself with what he does down there. It's not safe. You remember what happened. I won't allow you to-"

"Mom. They have a great Animal Sciences major, _and_ they're giving me a full scholarship. Besides- Sansa lives there too."

"Cat, she's right," her father said, taking his wife's hand gently in his own. "Arya is an adult now, and she's making a smart decision. She'll be fine."

"You say that now, but this little weasel always manages to sniff her way into trouble."

Arya didn't like lying to her parents, but it had to be done. She had to get to San Diego one way or another. And if it meant going behind her parents' backs, than so be it.

She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. _Everything will be fine. _It's something she has to keep telling herself. Up ahead, she sees the exit sign, and a small smile tugs at her lips. She glances at Nymeria who is sleeping softly in the passenger seat. "We've made it," she says, half to Nymeria and half to herself. "And everything will be fine."

* * *

The sun is setting by the time Arya pulls into Jon's apartment complex. She glances at the scrap of paper, even though she already has the scrawled address memorized. Robb gave her the address after days of begging and pleading. "Don't tell, mom," he had warned her. She had refused to tell him _why_ she wanted the address, but Robb was smart. He probably figured it out.

"Come on, Nymeria," Arya says, opening the car door. The warm, dry air feels good on her skin, a sharp contrast to the cold nights she grew up with. The apartment complex is dark, quiet. Most of the windows are shaded, but Arya can sees shadows of people walking back and forth and the occasional flicker of a television. Nymeria trots at Arya heels, following her as she makes her way to Jon's door.

Arya takes a slow, calming breath before knocking. This is the moment. If Jon refuses to help her, the entire plan will go to hell.

She knocks three times.

At first, she thinks Jon isn't home, and she bites her lip, wondering what to do next. She's about to head back to her car when she hears footsteps sounding down the hallway. Without so much as a "who is it," Jon opens the door.

He's a lot older than she remembered. She hasn't seen Jon for six years, and although he was already tall when he left, he's filled out a lot more since then, and there's a scruffy beard on his pale face. His dark eyes flash in surprise when they land on her.

"Hi Jon," she says tentatively. She's anxious, her hands restless and fiddling with her car keys. She glances at Nymeria. The faithful dog at her side has a calming effect.

"Arya?" Jon looks around, as if checking to see if anyone else is with her.

"It's just me," Arya says. She clutches her bag, adjusting its weight on her shoulder. "Could I come in?"

Jon stands there, shocked and silent for a moment longer before saying, "Yeah. Of course. Come in."

She follows Jon inside of the apartment. It's small and plain, but surprisingly neat. He leads her down a narrow hallway into the kitchen. He sits down at the small Formica table, and Arya does the same. For a while, they just stare at each other. Jon was never very talkative. Sansa was always the one who could meet a stranger and engage them in an hour-long conversation about the political situation in Burundi or some other topic that was equally uninteresting to Arya.

But not Jon.

Jon was quiet. He always preferred to stare people down until they either left him alone or provoked him into a fight.

"It's been a long time," Arya finally says. "Six years, I think."

"You were just a little girl when I left." Jon leans forward in his chair, staring Arya straight in the eyes. "Look at you now. God." He rubs his face and takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I'm happy to see you. I really am. But this is all so surreal. How did you find me?"

"Robb," Arya says.

"Right." Jon looks down at his hands as he draws them together. "He visits sometimes."

"Look, if you don't want to talk about everything, it's all right. That's not what I came here for. You know I never blamed you for what happened to Bran, and Robb didn't either, or dad, or-"

"But mom did. And she always will." His voice is hard, bitter. Six years ago, Arya would have gone over to Jon and hugged him tightly around the stomach, her little head barely reaching his chest. But it's been so long. Too many years of silence. She doesn't know how to react around her brother- doesn't know how to help. Jon takes a deep breath before standing up. "Do you want something to drink?" He asks, abruptly changing the conversation. "I think I have some tea bags somewhere..." He starts rummaging through drawers and cabinets.

"It's all right, Jon. I'm fine. Really I just-" a yawn breaks through as Arya speaks, and she begins to realize just how tired she is. "Sorry. It's been a long drive. Do you think I could maybe sleep here for the night?" _And for the next few months_, she amends silently.

"Of course. Let me just grab a blanket, and I'll sleep on the couch. You can have the bed-"

"No, the couch is fine for me. Really. I don't want to put you out or anything."

"Well, if you're sure." Arya stands up and walks towards Jon. He's still much taller than her, but he doesn't seem like the giant that she trailed behind as a little kid. "I've missed you, Jon. I hope you know that," she says before stepping forward and hugging him tightly.

He's hesitant at first, but eventually his arms wrap around her skinny frame. "I've missed you too, Arya." He breaks the hug and smiles softly. "Honestly. It's great to see you- even if I'm still not sure why you're here."

"Yeah, I guess I should explain that. Is it all right if we talk in the morning? I've had a long drive."

"Sure." Jon glances at Nymeria who's been sitting quietly on the kitchen floor, eyes trained on Arya. "I let Snow wander around at night. He gets too cooped up in this apartment sometimes." Jon smiles. "I get too cooped up in this apartment sometimes. Maybe Nymeria wants to join him."

"That's a good idea. I feel bad. She's had to sit in the car for the past two days."

"Come on then," Jon says. "I'll grab you a blanket so you can get some sleep."

* * *

Arya wakes up with light streaming in through the living room window. She can hear Jon rustling around in the kitchen. For a moment, she considers going back to sleep. Her eyelids are heavy, and the blanket is soft and warm. She could just curl up and...no. Anxious thoughts are already creeping back into her mind. She needs to talk to Jon and tell him why she's really here. She needs to find out if he'll help her or send her back home with her tail between her legs.

Yawning, she pulls herself off the couch and heads towards the kitchen. Jon is at the table, biting into a piece of toast as she enters. "Morning," she says.

He smiles, crumbs falling onto his plate. "Morning." He gestures towards the table. "There's some toast and butter. Milk in the fridge. Sorry I don't have much else. I'm not much of a cook."

"That's all right," Arya says. "I'm not either."

She pulls up a chair and sits down at the table. She picks up a piece of toast, but realizes she's too nervous to eat it.

"So," Jon says.

"So."

"I guess you should tell me why you're here. I'm so happy to see you- but-"

"I know." Arya looks down at her hands. There's grease under her short, bitten fingernails. "I don't really know where to start-" she looks at Jon and his dark eyes are trained on hers. "I never blamed you, Jon, really, I never did. What happened with Bran-"

"I thought you said we don't need to talk about that."

"We don't. But I want to. I need you to know-" Jon's jaw is clenched tightly, but he lets her continue. "The accident was horrible, but it wasn't your fault. You weren't racing when Bran was with you. It was just a freak accident. And it's awful what happened to him," her voice softens, "awful that he lost the use of his legs, but it wasn't your fault. Mom can't blame you because a drunk driver hit you. It had nothing to do with your racing. I _know _you'd never do anything unsafe with Bran in the car."

"But she did blame me." Arya can hear the hurt in Jon's words.

"I know. But Bran didn't. He_ doesn't_. And he's doing well, really well. I think he's going to be valedictorian. Did you know that? He's really smart. Way smarter than the rest of us. But anyways, that's not the point. My point is that I never blamed you for what happened to Bran. I never got to tell you that, because everything happened so quickly after the accident, and then I woke up one morning and you were gone." Arya is surprised by how thick her throat feels, and when she looks to Jon, she sees that his eyes are glossy with held back tears. "And for awhile, I was really mad at you. Not because of Bran, but because you left. I was too young to realize that you didn't abandon me. _Mom_ abandoned _you_. Sometimes I look at her and-"

"It's all right, Arya." Jon takes her hand, gripping it tightly for just a moment before releasing it. "It's all right."

"You were always my favorite, Jon. I looked up to you, followed you around-"

"Like a little dog always nipping at my heels." He smiles weakly.

"I remember all the time we spent together. The best days were when you'd take me in your car, and we'd race down the streets, fast and easy. You were always so sure with your hands on a wheel. I wanted to be just like you. Just as precise. Just as steady." Arya pauses for a moment, gathering her thoughts. _Here goes nothing. _"So when I got my license a couple years ago, I started working your old car, and then one day-" she looks up and meets Jon's hard, black eyes "One day I started racing."

The response is immediate.

Jon stands up, pushing his chair back from the table. His voice is harsh, forceful. "Arya. No." He crosses his arms. "Absolutely not. I will not let-"

_Shit. _She didn't expect him to react like this. She wasn't prepared to hit a brick wall. "Please. Let me finish," she says quickly. "Sit back down. Just let me finish." For a moment, Jon doesn't respond, but he finally grabs his chair and sits back down, body rigid.

"I was careful. I am _always _careful. I trained on empty roads, watched races from the sidelines, practiced every single day for a year before every racing anybody. And mom never found out. I never got hurt. And Jon-" a smile manages to break through her worried face "I love it. I've never loved anything more in my entire life." Her voice rises, "And I'm really good at it. You should see me out on the streets. It's like I can _fly _Jon. Nothing makes as much sense as sitting behind that wheel does." She might be imagining it, but it looks like Jon's face is slowly softening. So she goes for it. It's time to lay all the cards on the table. "I know you still race out here in San Diego. When Robb visits, he tells me stories. Tells me you get better and better every year. So, well, I'm eighteen now, and I was hoping that maybe you could take me under your wing for a little bit, show me around and introduce me to the scene. I don't need money or anything like that. Just your help. Your advice."

"I can't do that, Arya." His voice is calm, but Arya realizes his fists are clenched tightly. "I already paralyzed one of my siblings. I'm not going to do it to another. And what does mom and dad think you're doing? Don't tell me you convinced them to let you come out here and stay with me because that'd be a fucking laugh, wouldn't it?"

"They think I'm attending the University of San Diego. And I already told you- what happened to Bran was not your fault." Arya says. "Jon, you can't make my decisions for me. I'm going to race whether you like it or not. You know that, and so do I. The question is whether or not you're going to help me."

Jon sighs, and runs a hand through his full, dark hair. "I can't have you getting hurt, Arya."

"I won't get hurt."

"You don't know that."

"You race. Why can't I? And don't you dare say it's because I'm a girl."

"It's not because you're a girl. It's because you're my kid sister, and I can't let you do something that will endanger you."

"Well it's not your decision. I'm doing it, and if you help me, than I'll probably be a lot safer in the process."

"It's not going to happen, Arya. I'm sorry. All I can say is that I love you, and I hope you change your mind."

* * *

"Shit," Arya says. She's speeding down El Cajon Boulevard when her car shudders. There's a loud grinding sound that makes Nymeria whimper and cock her head to the side. "Shit, shit."

Arya knows she should have checked out her car before taking an eighteen-hour drive, but she had been so anxious to get out of town. And now she's miles away from home, from her garage, from her tools. She bites her lip. There's a sign ahead, **Tobho Mott's Mechanic Shop**. Arya prefers to work on her car herself, but she can't chance it breaking down before she has time to get some tools.

Arya pulls into the gravel drive. The shop looks deserted. She checks the time and realizes it's almost seven. The sun is just starting to set. "And they're probably closed," she mutters to herself. If only Jon hadn't thrown her out earlier today. He probably has a whole chest of tools somewhere in his apartment.

She gets out of the car, telling Nymeria to stay. The front door of the shop is open, so Arya walks in, a bell tinkling behind her.

The front room is empty. She rings the bell on the desk, but there's no answer. "Hello?" She calls out cautiously. She rings it again. And again.

Still no answer.

Arya hesitates before heading back behind the desk. Her car cannot break down. With Jon turning her out, she'd have nowhere to go. Her car is the only thing she has in San Diego. _Except for Sansa_, but Arya pushes the thought quickly away. She hasn't talked to her sister for a year, and she doesn't plan to start now.

She opens the back door that leads into the actual garage. At first the room looks empty, but then Arya spots someone. Only his legs are visible. The rest of him is hidden under the body of a car. She can hear the clinking of metal. She approaches slowly, her footsteps soft and hesitant. The man seems to be hard at work, completely oblivious to her presence. She clears her throat, but he doesn't hear her. So then, rather loudly, she says, "Excuse me."

"Oi!" The man, startled, bumps his head on the car. The thud sounds loud and painful. Slowly he slides out from under the car, rubbing a large, greased hand over his head. When he stands up, Arya has to take a step back. He's _tall._ Her eyes quickly flick over muscled arms, over his dirty shirt that clings to a strong, broad chest.

The man takes a short breath before speaking. "What the hell do you think you're doing sneaking up on someone like that?" His eyes are angry and dark blue.

Arya immediately bites back with a sharp response. "Maybe you shouldn't leave the doors open if you don't want people just wandering in. Ever thought about that?"

"We closed an hour ago. You're trespassing."

Arya crosses her arms and sticks out her bottom lip. "You're an _idiot._"

His eyes are on her, dark and intense. "I don't know who you are, but I think you should know it's not polite to break into a shop and insult the manager."

"The manager?" Arya asks. "Aren't you a bit young for that?"

"I'm twenty-four." The man looks her up and down. Slowly. Appraising her with narrowed eyes. "How old are_ you_? Fifteen?"

"Eighteen." Arya has looked young her entire life. It wasn't until last year that she lost some of the baby fat in her cheeks and managed to fill out something larger than a training bra. "Now are you going to help with my car or not?"

And then, the man does something really strange. He laughs at her. The laugh is deep and his blue eyes fill with amusement. "You break into my store, call me an idiot, and now you want me to help you?"

"Well, I'll pay you for it," Arya says shortly. "That is your job, right? How do you expect to stay in business if you throw out customers?"

He shakes his head. "You're impossible"

"It's a good thing you'll be working on my car and not me then, isn't it?"

"That's true." Sighing, he offers her a large, greased hand. "I'm Gendry, by the way."

"It's a pleasure," Arya says, sarcastically. She takes his hand. His rough calluses rubbing against her skin puts her on edge, and her eyes flash to his. "I'm Arya." She takes her hand away, and though unsettled, returns Gendry's stare with fierce, steady eyes. "Arya Stark."


	2. Chapter 2

Arya pulls her car into the garage. Gendry is waiting there. He's wearing a fresh work shirt, and it looks like he's wiped some of the grease off of his face.

"Let's have a look then," he says as Arya gets out of the car. But before Arya has a chance to shut the door, Nymeria bursts out of the car and rushes towards Gendry. She pushes him to the ground, pinning him down with the weight of her body and snarling with sharp teeth.

Gendry shouts, "Get 'er off!" He tries to push Nymeria away, but she's too heavy for him.

"Nymeria. Come," Arya says, whistling sharply. After a final growl, Nymeria moves off of Gendry and pads over to Arya, sitting down next to her.

"Sorry," Arya says. "She's protective."

"I didn't _do _anything."

"Well she didn't know that, did she?" Arya scratches Nymeria behind the ear. "She's just looking out for me."

Shaking his head, Gendry stands up. "Just make sure she keeps away from me, all right?"

"What? Scared of dogs?"

"No, but I am scared of wolves. What breed is that thing?"

Arya shrugs her shoulders. "I'm not sure. My brother found her and five others in an alley when they were pups. My parents let us keep them not knowing how big they'd get."

Gendry shakes his head, muttering "Jesus," before walking around to the front of the car. "Just pop the hood, okay?"

"Sure thing." Arya flips the latch for her hood.

"What the hell?" Gendry is staring inside the car, his eyes round and greedy.

"I might have done some work on it," Arya says, smirking.

"Might have?" Gendry whistles. "There's got to be at least $15,000 easy in this thing." Arya doesn't respond. She sidles around the car so that she's standing behind Gendry. "Look at this engine," he says, "It's got to get you at least-"

Suddenly he stops talking and turns around to face Arya. He looks her up and down slowly with intense blue eyes. She flushes under the close scrutiny. "What's a skinny girl like you doing with a racing car?"

"It was my brother's."

"And he just _gave _it to you? Do you know how much you could sell this thing for?"

"Why would I want to sell it?" Arya asks defensively. When Jon left home six years ago, he left his car behind too. There was a scrawled note left on the passenger seat that Arya discovered days later: _Hey Arya, Mom wouldn't let me take the car, but I wanted to leave it with you anyways. Something to remember me by. Love, Jon. _To this day, Arya wonders why Jon left her with his old racing car if he didn't actually want her racing.

"Why would you sell it? What else are you going to do with it? It's not like you need it for racing-" Gendry trails off as he realizes that Arya is staring at him staunchly with crossed arms. He smirks, full lips curving slowly. "You don't _race_, do you?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

Gendry's smile grows wider. "You're telling me that you, a tiny eighteen year old girl,races? Can you even reach the steering wheel?"

"Shut up, stupid!" Arya rushes forward and pushes Gendry hard in the chest with two splayed hands. Unfortunately, he's so tall and broad that the push doesn't do much except make him laugh, blue eyes filled with amusement. "I _said_ it's none of your business," Arya continues. "Now are you going to do your job or not?"

Gendry raises his hands in mock forfeit. Arya wishes she could slap the grin right off of his face. "I'll help," he says. "But I won't get to it until tomorrow. The shop closed an hour ago."

"I'll pay you double, triple," Arya says hurriedly. She can't leave her car in the shop tonight. She needs her car. She'd be lost without it.

Gendry raises an eyebrow. "What's the rush?"

"Triple. Take it or leave it."  
He shrugs his shoulders. "Triple it is."

* * *

"You're not doing it right. Here, give it to me. Scoot over." Arya sidles up next to Gendry and then tries to snatch the wretch out of his hands. "You've got to be gentle with this engine. It isn't some junkyard piece of-"

"Excuse me, I thought I was the mechanic. Give me that." Annoyed, Gendry yanks the wrench right back from Arya. He has to tug it a few times before he can jerk it from her small hands.

"Are you sure you're a mechanic? Because you're doing it wrong," Arya says.

"I am not."

"You _are _too." Arya doesn't like other people touching her car. Especially if they're strangers. If she had it her way, she'd kick Gendry out of the garage right now so she could just do the work herself. However, she doesn't think it likely that Gendry would go for that plan. "Look," she says, moving closer to Gendry so that she can reach inside of her car. "You see this part, right here? My brother built it custom. You have to grease it up a little before you mess with it, otherwise it'll get stuck and rip up the-" Arya trails off, suddenly very aware of how close she's standing to Gendry, his tall body hovering over her own, his warm breath raising hairs on the back of her neck. The man is as annoying as he is attractive, and Arya has to take a slow, steady breath before continuing. "It just takes some care. Be gentle with it. It's not a-"

"Machine?" Gendry finishes. "Look, let's compromise. Why don't you grab a stool and watch me work. I understand the car is important to you. I get it, all right?" His blue eyes flash to hers. "But I can't get my job done with you hovering around like this."

Arya chews her lip for a moment before finally relenting. "Fine. But if you do one thing wrong-"

"I won't."

"But if you do-"

"I won't." Gendry's blue eyes continue to stare her down, dark and steady, until Arya finally takes a step back and lets the stubborn mechanic do his job.

For the next hour, Arya paces around the body shop. Every now and then she starts hovering over Gendry until he snaps at her and says, "Away," in a low, rough voice. And then she continues to pace, always looking out of the corner of her eye to make sure Gendry doesn't mess up her car. But his strong hands seem sure and his blue eyes intent.

Eventually Arya relaxes enough to sit down on a bench and watch from a distance. "How long have you worked here?" She asks.

Gendry's voice is muffled as he leans inside Arya's car. "Since I was a boy."

"Was it your father's shop?"

"I don't know my father."

"So your mother's-"

"I don't know her either."

Arya leaves it there, not wanting to probe further. She doesn't like discussing her family life, so she can't imagine why anyone else would. "It's nice," she continues. The shop is filled with bits and parts, piles of old machinery, but everything looks clean and worn, a show of good use.

"Thanks."

She bites her lip before saying, "Do you work on race cars often?"

"Sometimes."

"It's popular in San Diego. Racing." She chews on the corner of her nail. "At least that's what I've heard."

"It is."

_Well you aren't much of a talker, are you_, Arya thinks. If it was hard getting Jon to talk, it's like pulling teeth from Gendry. Silent, brooding men. The whole lot of them are stupid. "Lots of good streets for it. Long ones. Empty." She looks up. Gendry's head is still bent over the car, his hands fiddling with clinking metal. "Where are the popular streets, you know, for racing?"

For a while, Gendry doesn't respond. The shop is silent save the sound of him tinkering with the car's engine. Arya bides her time. She can tell Gendry isn't a man that can be pushed or rushed into anything.

Eventually, he puts his wrench down and stands up straight, turning around the face Arya. He grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it up to wipe the grease off of his face. Arya can't help but glance at the revealed, taut muscles. When he drops the shirt and looks to her, Arya's entire face flushes. "What's with the questions?" He asks.

Arya can't meet his eyes. She was never a very good liar, despite years of practice. "Just curious."

"Really." He wipes hands on his apron. "You wouldn't want to be racing yourself, would you? That's not why you're asking."

Arya shrugs her shoulders. "I don't see how it's any of your business."

"I don't know where you're from, but San Diego is dangerous. Racing here is dangerous. I'm not going to let you-"

"Let me?" Arya laughs, short and sharp. "Who do you think you are? My father? My brother? No." She jumps up off the bench and strides toward Gendry. With one finger, she pokes him sharply in the chest. "_You're_ a stranger. A mechanic I met an hour ago. You can't tell me what to do. You can fix my car and then either help me or shut up."

"No, no. You brought me into this the second you opened that scheming mouth of yours. I'm not going to let your idiocy stain my conscience. A little thing like you will get eaten alive on these streets. If you ask to race, they'll laugh at you. And if you _somehow_ manage to get into a race, they'll run you off the side of the road and strip your car of its parts." Gendry lowers his voice and steps closer to Arya. She lifts her chin stubbornly to meet his stare. "If you're lucky, they'll leave it at that, but don't think for a second they're above harming a little girl." His eyes narrow, and Arya feels uncomfortable under his gaze, all her nerves on alert. "I don't plan on aiding with your downfall, Arya Stark."

His argument is so similar to Jon's, that for a moment, Arya is almost convinced. She's fast and she's good. That's a fact. But what makes her think she can just show up in a new city and start racing with the best of them? They won't trust her, and they sure as hell won't like her. "Maybe you're right," Arya says slowly.

"Really?" The concession makes Gendry back up a step, and Arya is thankful for the open space between them. Having him so close was messing with her concentration.

"Don't look so surprised, _stupid. _I didn't say I'd listen to you. You just made some good points. That's all."

"So what then?"

"I'm going to race. It's not like you could stop me." She looks up. "But maybe you could help me."

"I just said I wasn't going to help you."

"And I just said that wasn't going to stop me. Don't you listen? One way or the other, I'll be racing. It's what I do, and I don't plan on stopping." She bites her lip. "But maybe you could help me. I just need you to introduce me to some people. Show me around. If you work on the cars, you must know the racers. And I'll pay you."

Gendry narrows his eyes. "You sure have a lot of money."

"I win a lot of races." That was only half a lie. Arya did win races, but she didn't get the chance to compete much. Most of her money came from her family. They were pretty well off, even after her father got fired.

But Gendry didn't need to know that. It's not good to show off money around people who don't have it.

"I don't know," Gendry responds. He glances back at Arya's car. "I mean, sure, I know some people, but I'm not- you know I'm not one of them. I'm their mechanic, not their friend."

"How much will it take?"

"I need to see you what you can do first."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not going to get you into a race without seeing you drive first. I don't want to look like an idiot, now do I?"

"Well, you _are_ an idiot."

"You're not helping your case."

Arya inhales deeply. She doesn't have time to spiral into another stubborn argument with this dumb mechanic. "Finish the car. I'll come back tomorrow night. And I'll show you exactly what I can do."

* * *

The motel is acceptable at best. Technically Arya has enough money to stay somewhere nice, but she doesn't know how long it will take for her to start making a profit off of racing, and she doesn't want to run her bank account too low. Especially after paying Gendry almost $2,000 for the work on her car and as a sign of good faith on their agreement. Even though the account belongs to Arya, her parents can look at it whenever they want. She doesn't need a phone call from her father asking how she managed to spend almost $5,000 in a week.

"Come, Nymeria," Arya says. The huge dog jumps out of the car, and Arya rushes her to the front door of the motel room. There's a strict 'no pets' policy, and Nymeria isn't exactly a small Chihuahua that she can tuck in her purse.

As Arya walks inside of the room, the bed immediately catches her eye. She looks at it longingly. She's exhausted. It's been a very long couple of days. She glances at the illuminated clock on the nightstand: 9:45 at night. Usually way before her bedtime, but she's pretty sure she could crawl into bed now and sleep until noon.

Instead, Arya slips her cell phone out of her pocket. She has eight missed calls. One from her father, one from Bran, and six from her mother.

She's tempted to ignore all of them, but the longer she puts off her mother, the worse the repercussions will be. Sighing, she presses the call button. Her mother picks up on the second ring. "Where on earth have you been? I've been calling all day and night. I was worried sick. You can't just make a long trip like that and not check in-"

"I'm sorry," Arya says, trying her best to sound genuine. "I've just been really busy that's all."

"Well that's no excuse."

"I know. I'm sorry."

She can hear her mother take a calming breath. To be fair, raising six kids isn't easy, especially not when one is paralyzed, one gets kicked out of home, and the husband gets fired. Arya can understand why her mother is always stressed, but it doesn't make talking to her any easier. "Well, how is it? Is your roommate nice? When do classes start?"

"It's great. I'm just really busy, so don't freak if I don't call every day, all right?"

"All right, all right. And remember, call your sister. She's nearby, and I know she'd love to see you."

"I doubt that," Arya mutters. She loves Sansa, but they never really got along. Arya spent her childhood working on cars with Jon, and Sansa spent it mooning over boys and dressing up like princesses and pop stars.

"Call her. For me."

"Is dad there?"

"Still at work. I'll tell him you called."

"Okay. Tell Bran too."

"Of course."

"Good-night."

"I love you."

"Love you too." Arya hangs up the phone. She bites her bottom lip. She really hates lying to her parents, but there's really not another option. Hopefully once she gets settled, she'll be able to tell them the truth. But until then, she's depending on their money. And if they find out she's using her savings for racing, that will be the end of that. They'll have her on the next plane home and attending community college within a week.

She tells herself everything will be fine. That her parents love her. That when her mother finds out what she's up to, she wont desert Arya like she deserted Jon.

But sometimes Arya worries that the lies will keep piling up until one day, no matter how hard she looks, she won't be able to find the truth.

**A/N **– **Thank you so much for the great reviews! I'm really enjoying writing this story, so I'm glad you guys are enjoying reading it. How did you like the chapter? **

**I'll be updating about once a week. Again- thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N ****– Thank you so much to all of the reviews / alerts / favorites of this story so far. I know it's a small fandom- so all the feedback makes me feel really good. Thanks guys!**

By the time Arya wakes up, midday light is already shining through her curtains. She rolls over in bed, snuggling deeper into the pillows. Last night she turned the air conditioner all the way up, letting the cold air blast over her. San Diego might be pretty, but the air is too warm for her taste.

Arya is about to close her eyes and go back to sleep when Nymeria whines softly.

"Stop it," Arya mumbles. She hasn't had time to sleep in for weeks now, and she wants to take full advantage of the empty day stretched ahead of her, but Nymeria keeps whining. "I mean it, Nymeria," Arya warns.

Apparently Nymeria doesn't take the threat very seriously because she pounces on the bed. Arya let's out a loud _oomph _as Nymeria crawls over her and settles down on her stomach. "Off, fatty." Nymeria weighs more than Arya does, and her furry coat is blocking all the air conditioning. "Come on. Off."

Nymeria licks Arya's face with her large, rough tongue before standing up and dragging Arya's comforter away with her teeth. "All right, all right. I get the point."

Arya drags herself out of bed and pads barefooted across the room to where Nymeria is anxiously waiting at the door. "I'm surprised you don't just open it yourself," Arya mutters. Her dog has always been suspiciously intelligent, but without opposable thumbs, she'll always need Arya's help.

As soon as Arya opens the door, Nymeria bolts outside towards the unfenced, sparse woods surrounding the motel. "Don't run far," Arya yells. At home, Arya always let Nymeria run free. It was safe enough because everyone in the neighborhood recognized Nymeria and her siblings. But Arya can't imagine San Diego strangers acting too friendly towards a giant wolf dog. Pushing these uneasy thoughts out of her mind, Arya heads back inside and towards the bathroom.

The shower isn't very hot, but the water pressure is nice and strong. Arya lets the water rush over her as she smoothes back her short, dark hair. She can't remember the last time she washed it. Probably at least a week ago. It's almost to her shoulders now, and she wonders if it's time for another haircut. She prefers to keep her hair and nails short. As a racer, long hair and nails aren't very practical. Her hair would whip around in the wind too much, and long nails would poke holes in her racing gloves.

The bathroom is foggy when Arya steps out of the shower. She quickly towels herself off before walking naked into the bedroom, something she never had the privilege to do at home. She was always scared that Rickon or her mother or whoever else would barge into the room without warning. Growing up with a big family had its upsides- but privacy was definitely not one of them.

Arya starts shoving around her clothing, pulling things out of her suitcase and throwing them to the ground. Eventually she pulls out her favorite pair of black skinny jeans and a soft black tank top. Her mother always complains that Arya doesn't own enough feminine clothing. Maybe she's right. But at least her clothes fit better now. The tank fits her snuggly, just barely exposing her chest that suddenly decided to develop last year. When Arya looks at herself in the mirror, the thought of Gendry flickers through her mind.

Gendry the mechanic. He's one of the most rude, stubborn people Arya has ever met, but he seems to know his way around a car. And that's something Arya finds ten times more attractive than his strong arms or blue eyes. Not that those are bad to look at. Yesterday, she actually had a bit of trouble not staring.

Arya shakes her head, trying to push away these thoughts. Gendry is her mechanic, and she's a skinny little girl who needs his help. She doesn't have time to get distracted by the silly infatuations that Sansa always dreamt up about every man that entered her life. She won't let chiseled abs get in the way of her racing career. She's not _stupid_.

Sighing, Arya runs a hand through her wet hair, reminding herself that single-minded determination is the only way to get what she wants. She grabs her car keys and heads out into the afternoon sun.

When Arya gets home from running errands, Nymeria appears out of the evening shadows, stalking slowly towards her. "Good girl," Arya says, relieved that she didn't run off.

Arya's arms are full of bags, and she has to fumble with her keys for a moment before opening the motel door. Nymeria follows her inside and immediately starts sniffing one of the bags. "Hold on, hold on," Arya says before extracting the huge bag of dog food. She rips of the top of the bag with her teeth and throws it to the ground, letting Nymeria attack it without the formality of a bowl. _My mother would have a heart attack_, Arya thinks.

As Nymeria eats, Arya starts unpacking the rest of the bags. She bought enough groceries to last her for a week, and it takes a few minutes to shove them all in the mini fridge. She also had to buy some new clothing to help adjust to the hot weather. Arya pulls out a couple pairs of new shorts and tanks; she didn't bother trying them on at the store. They were cheap, and she assumes they'll fit. Even though Arya grew up with plenty of money, she has to keep on a strict budget from now on if she doesn't want to make her parents suspicious of what she's really up to down in San Diego.

Arya finishes unpacking and glances at her watch. It's almost ten at night, and she wonders where the day went. _I guess that's what happens when you sleep until almost four in the afternoon_, she thinks. Arya turns to Nymeria who is now lying face down in a mess of dry dog food. "I'll be back soon," Arya says. "Try not to get into too much trouble."

Nymeria looks up, cocking her head to the side and staring straight at Arya. For a second, Arya can swears she hear Nymeria saying, "You too."

* * *

Gendry is waiting outside the shop when Arya pulls into the lot. He's wearing dark jeans and a black tank top. Arya can't help but appreciate the sight of those long, muscled arms she was thinking about earlier today. She's glad he can't see her expression from inside of the dark car. She flashes her lights and unlocks the passenger door. Gendry shoves his hands in his pockets before walking towards the car in long strides.

When he opens the door and slides inside, he automatically checks the backseats.

"What are you doing?" Arya asks.

"Just making sure you didn't decide to take that beast along for our joy ride."

"She's not a beast."

"She weighs more than I do."

"That's not true. You're much fatter than she is." _Okay, calling Gendry fat is an outright lie, but who cares? _Gendry has been in the car for about ten seconds, and they're already bickering. She can't believe they only met yesterday. "Nymeria's only intimidating because you let her intimidate you. She can sniff out easy prey."

Gendry's eyes are illuminated in the dim light of the car, and his lips are curled into that tight smirk. "Whatever you say, Arya. That dog is enormous, and I'm man enough to admit I don't want to be on her bad side."

"Where am I going?" Arya asks, changing the subject and pulling her car into reverse.

"Head towards the highway. I'll show you."

Last night Gendry said he wanted to see Arya drive before he took her to any races, and she had to agree it was a fair offer. Hopefully tonight will prove to Gendry that Arya isn't some silly fool who just likes to watch shirtless men drive cars in _Fast and Furious. _

They drive in silence with the exception of Gendry telling her to turn right and left. She can feel him staring at her, but she keeps her eyes trained on the road, one hand on the wheel, and one on the gearshift. The further they drive, the emptier the roads become. After half an hour- there's not another car in sight, and the street is surrounded by dry, packed dirt.

"Are you sure it's all right to race here?" Arya asks.

"No one actually races here. Not in tournaments. The stretches aren't wide or long enough for more than one or two cars. But it's good for practice."

Arya flexes her hand before returning it to the wheel. She looks to Gendry for the first time since he got into the car. His blue eyes quickly flash to meet her own. Her car suddenly feels very small. "So what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to show off." His voice is low and steady. "Show me that you're confident. Show me speed. Agility." Arya finds herself watching Gendry's full lips as he speaks, mesmerized by every word. "Show me that you know exactly what you're doing. Instinct. Precision."

When he finishes, Arya clears her throat and looks away. She can feel that her face is slightly flushed, a reaction that doesn't happen often. "I can do that."

Gendry nods and leans back in his seat. He crosses his arms, and Arya's eyes flicker over the taut muscles. This time when he speaks, he's staring straight ahead. "Then do it."

Arya is more than distracted by Gendry's presence, by his..._affect _on her. A stupid, bullheaded idiot shouldn't be allowed to get under her skin. But as soon as Arya pulls the car into drive, all thoughts of Gendry drop away. There's nothing but her, the open stretch of road, and an engine whirring beneath her. She accelerates quickly, nearing a hundred-ten miles an hour in just a few seconds. The wind whips through her open windows, tousling her short hair. She goes faster and faster. But she knows it won't be enough to impress Gendry. Anyone can put their foot down on a pedal. If she wants Gendry's help, she'll need more than just pure speed.

There's a curve coming up in the road, about twenty feet off. She could take it sharp and fast. But that would still be too easy. Predictable. Arya _hates_ being predictable. So instead of preparing to go around the corner, Arya shoots straight towards it, decelerating at just the last minute so that she can flip the car around, spinning it once and a half, tires burning hot rubber, as she speeds back the same way she came. The whole thing takes a few seconds and has Gendry gripping his seat with white knuckles and shouting "Oi! Easy there."

Arya smirks as she pitches the car halfway down the road and spins it again. She then zigzags down the rest of the stretch with precise jerks and switches. By the time she pulls the car to a stop at the end of the road, she's smiling broadly. She can see burnt tire tracks in the rear-view mirror.

Gendry turns to her, his blue eyes wide and animate. Arya angles herself towards him, a smug smile tugging at her lips. "I didn't expect that," he says.

"Why? Because I'm a girl?"

"Yes."

"Well at least you aren't a liar."

"And neither are you apparently." He shakes his head slowly, dark shaggy hair falling over his forehead. "I've driven this stretch a hundred times. I never once thought to pull a turn that close to the edge."

"You race?"

"No. Not really." Gendry smiles. "But what's the point of building the car if you can't take it for a spin?"

"I guess that's true." Arya takes her hands off the wheel, stripping off her driving gloves. They're starting to wear through from years of use. She chews on her lip for a minute before asking, "So you'll help me then?"

"You're going to race whether I help you or not."

"That's true."

"And you're bound to do something stupid if I don't help you." Arya wants to retort, but she's smart enough to keep her mouth shut. "And you seem to know what you're doing."

"That's _very _true."

Gendry sighs before leaning over in his seat so that his head is only inches away from Arya's. The nearness unsettles Arya, and she can feel her skin tingling. She's tempted to back away, but she doesn't want to seem weak, or worse, foolish. "So," she says, her voice coming out softer than usual. "Is that a yes?"

Slowly, very slowly, Gendry starts to smile. Eventually it reaches up all the way into his dark blue eyes. "Yes, Arya Stark. I'll help you."

It's the best thing she's heard for months.

* * *

_The wind whips through Arya's hair as she races down the road in an open-top, black convertible. The speedometer is rising and rising as she breaks one-fifty, and then two-hundred, and then the needle breaks and falls down. Beside the car, Nymeria is lunging forward down the road, strong muscled legs keeping up with Arya's pace. Wind rushes through her thick fur, and as her paws lift off the road, she appears to be flying. "Faster," Arya says. "Faster and faster."_

_ A light flashes in her rear-view mirror, and Arya's eyes flick behind her. There's a car coming straight towards her, moving incredibly fast. Arya presses her foot on the gas, but her car won't speed up. If anything, it's starting to slow down, and the other car is closing in on her. Nymeria starts whining and howling and Arya watches as the shaggy dog disappears from the road and starts sprinting towards a thick forest. "No!" Arya shouts. "Don't leave me!" But her words disappear with the wind. _

_ The car is close now. Too close. In her mirrors, Arya can see the reflection of a man. His face is blurred, but she spots thick blonde hair and a mocking smile. "No, no," Arya says, panicking. She keeps trying to accelerate, but her engine is stuttering beneath her, and eventually her entire car rumbles to a stop. Arya's heart is racing. Her palms are sweaty. "He's coming for me," she thinks. _

_ But when she whips her head around and looks behind her- there's no car there. There's nothing but the still, black night. _

Arya wakes up to Nymeria licking the cold sweat off of her face. She doesn't have the energy to push her dog away. Instead she lies still and lets her racing heart slowly calm down. She's had dreams like these before. They're almost always the same. Some man with blonde hair is chasing her down long, empty roads. Nymeria disappears from her side. Her car fails.

She's been having these dreams for a year now. They started right around the time her father was fired from his job, so she just attributed them to stress and ignored them. But the dreams are strange and unsettling, and it always takes Arya days to shake the odd feeling.

When she lived at home, she would always tell Bran what she dreamt about. And he would look at her with his big, brown eyes and tell her that everyone dreams, but the dreams aren't real. Bran was always a calming presence in her very hectic childhood. Even though he's the second youngest, he always seemed to be the most mature. While Arya and Rickon were busy throwing peas in Sansa's auburn hair, and Jon and Robb were busy sneaking out of the house to meet up with girls, Bran would be there to ground them all in place.

Thinking about Bran makes Arya a little bit homesick. As much as her family annoys her, she still loves them more than anything in the world. She just wishes she could be honest with them. Lying to her sweet, little brother was one of the hardest things she's ever done.

Sighing, Arya rolls over in bed and nestles into Nymeria's soft coat. She scratches her behind the ear, her favorite spot, and Nymeria responds happily by nuzzling closer. "You miss them too, don't you?" Arya asks. Nymeria had to leave her siblings behind also- Summer and Shaggydog. "Why don't we give them a call?"

Arya reaches for her cell phone and quickly dials Bran's cell phone. After a few rings it rolls straight to his voicemail. Arya assumes he must be at work. During the summers, he works at a day camp as an outdoor adventure counselor. She decides to leave a short message, "Hey, Bran, it's me. Sorry I haven't called yet." She pauses. "College has been crazy. I miss you, though. Give me a call when you have a chance."

She closes the phone and is about to call Rickon when her cell starts ringing loudly. The name **Gendry Waters **flashes across the green screen. After last night, they exchanged numbers so that he could contact her about a race. Seeing his name flashing across her phone makes Arya's pulse race, and she chews the edge of her thumb before answering.

"Hello?" She asks when she finally picks up the call. Arya can hear Gendry breathing on the other end. She wonders what he's doing. Where he is. If he's at the shop or at home. If he's dressed or-

"Arya?" Gendry asks, cutting off her train of thought.

"Yeah, stupid. Who else would it be?"

She can hear him laughing softly into the phone. "You just get nicer and nicer every day."

"And you get dumber and fatter."

"That's not true."

"So why are you calling?" Arya's stomach twists anxiously. Hopefully his call means good news.

"There's a race." Gendry pauses. "Tonight."

"Great. What time should I pick you up?"

"Actually, I'll be picking you up."

"Yeah, and why's that?" Arya likes driving. Whenever she gets in the car with someone else, she always gets the urge to shove them aside and grab the wheel for herself. Most people don't know a gearshift from an emergency break.

"The guys on the circuit know my car. Whenever a new cars show up, people talk. We don't want people to talk."

"Really?" Racing in Montana was always pretty relaxed. Arya knew it would be different in San Diego, but she didn't know it would be so extreme.

"Really. So I'll pick you up at eleven tonight. What's your address?"

"I'm living in Motel 8 right now- you know the one right off of Cajon Boulevard by the-"

"Got it. See you then." Gendry clicks off before Arya has a chance to finish talking. She stares at her phone for a second before throwing it to the side of her bed.

Her pulse is racing. Her palms are sweaty. Just like in her dream.

Except this time she isn't scared. No. She's excited.

She's going to a race tonight.

**A/N ****– How'd you guys like the chapter? I'm really enjoying writing this story, so hopefully you guys like reading it : ) **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N ****– Sorry it's been awhile since the last update! I was out of town for a week.**

Arya is sitting on her bed when car lights shine through her curtains. _Gendry. _She stands up and glances at Nymeria. The large dog is snoring softly, so Arya decides to let her stay at home. Besides, Gendry would kill her if Arya brought Nymeria to the race. Nymeria is the opposite of discreet.

Arya grabs her purse and slips out of the motel room. There's a car idling in the parking lot, and Arya can see Gendry staring at her through his dark windows. The car is decent at best. It's a black Honda Civic that looks like it's at least five years old. Ancient as far as racing standards go. Arya opens the passenger door and slips inside. "Couldn't afford something nicer?" She asks.

Gendry glares at her. "Nothing like starting the night with an insult." He leans forward. "And why don't you try checking under the hood before opening your mouth? I like powerful cars, not flashy ones. A nice paint job won't win a race."

Arya bites her lip but keeps her mouth shut. It seems like whenever she insults Gendry, he just gives it right back to her. Most people are so offended by Arya's short temper that they ignore her and walk away, but Gendry always holds his ground. Arya doesn't know if she respects or hates him for it.

"There's going to be a big crowd tonight," Gendry says. He pulls the car into drive and maneuvers out of the motel parking lot. He drives with one hand steady on the wheel and the other resting on the edge of the open window. Arya's eyes sweep over his profile as he speaks. His blue eyes are calm, but his jaw is clenched tight. _He's nervous, but he doesn't want me to know it. _"I thought it'd be best to take you to a big race first. That way no one will be paying attention to you. We can just slip into the crowd and observe. It's best to stay under the radar tonight. Do you think you can manage that?"

"Maybe."

"Always honest, aren't you?"

"Maybe."

Gendry smirks but doesn't respond.

Arya wonders if Jon will be at the race tonight. Probably. Why wouldn't he be there? She would love to see him in a race. It's been too many years since she's seen him speeding down the road, other cars trailing far behind him. He used to race Robb down empty lanes late into the night. Arya and Sansa would sit at the finish line cheering their brothers on. Jon always won, but Robb didn't seem to mind.

The thought of seeing Jon makes Arya's stomach twist in anticipation. Should she go up to him? No. Of course not. But what if he sees her? Should she run away or would that just bring more attention? And what will Gendry say if he finds out Arya's brother is Jon Snow. The only reason Arya told Gendry her last name in the first place is because Jon uses 'Snow' as his racing name instead of Stark.

Gendry and Arya drive for half an hour in silence. The roads morph from busy highways to long, empty stretches of road. Night closes in around them as the lights of the city disappear. It's silent. Calm.

But then lights appear on the horizon, headlights piercing the darkness. Gendry's jaw stiffens as they approach. He removes his hand from the window so that he can clench both hands to the steering wheel. Arya leans towards him and whispers, "Are you all right?"

"Fine," he responds shortly.

"Well you don't look all right."

"I'm fine."

"Okay, but I'm just saying-"

"Arya. Just please stop talking." Gendry glances at her, flashing his dark blue eyes in her direction. His direct look stills the words in her throat. _Calm the fuck down_, Arya thinks, wondering what exactly has Gendry so tensed up.

As they drive further down the road, the pinpricks of light become larger and larger. Arya can't help but say, "wow," as they pull up to the gravel lot. There's a large man at the edge of the parking lot. He's holding a clipboard in his hands. Gendry nods at the man, and the man nods back and waves them through.

The lot has at least a hundred cars in it. Maybe two hundred. It's hard to tell with all the people walking around, sitting on hoods, and setting up chairs. Arya notices that almost all of the women are scantily clad, wearing small denim shorts and revealing cut-off tops. Arya looks down at her black skinny jeans and old, cotton tank, and she wonders if simply her wardrobe will make her stand out in the crowd.

Gendry notices her stares. "You wouldn't want to dress like that. Women dress like that to attract attention." He shoots a dark glare at Arya. "And it's usually not good attention." Arya suspects that Gendry meant the advice to be comforting, but it has the opposite effect.

"What time do the races usually start?" Arya asks as Gendry pulls into a vacant spot.

"Just after midnight." Gendry turns off the car. He takes a short breath and licks his lips. Arya's eyes are drawn to the soft-looking skin. She blushes when Gendry turns to her. "Come on," he says. "Let's walk down to the stretch. You're so short, you'll need a good spot if you want to see anything but the backs of heads."

They get out of the car and start walking with the crowd of people. Everyone looks at least a few years older than Arya, and she starts to stay unconsciously close to Gendry's side, liking the feeling of him towering over her as they walk. Ever since she was a young girl, Arya has taken care of herself. She prides herself on her independence. But something about Gendry's presence is extremely calming, especially in a crowd of strangers. She feels in control with him next to her. _Which is stupid_, she thinks, _I've only known this guy for a couple of days. Who says I can trust him at all? _

"This way," Gendry says, touching Arya's shoulder for just a second to guide her to the left. She bites his lip as his hand brushes against her bare skin. _Very stupid_.

The crowd thickens, and Arya has to separate some from Gendry as she weaves through the throngs of people. To her relief, no one pays attention to her. And why would they? She just looks like a scrawny little girl to them. She's a ghost, she's no one, until she gets behind the wheel of a car.

They make their way to the side of the street. Arya pokes her head between two men standing in front of her, and she can see cars idling far down the road. Gendry, standing behind her, whistles softly. "Man. Five at a time tonight. This won't end well."

Arya turns around. Since they're standing so close together, she has to crane her neck up to look Gendry in the eye. "What do you mean, five at a time?"

"Usually they only race three, maybe four on this road. It's pretty narrow. Hard to fit more than four cars side by side. I'd put money down on at least one crash tonight. Hell, probably more than one."

Arya has been in a lot of races, but she hasn't experienced many crashes. And the crashes were always caused by a blown engine or a ripped tire. Crashes never occurred because people decided to race on a road that was too skinny. "Well that's dumb, isn't it?" Arya says sharply.

"It's probably Joff's doing. He likes the danger."

"Joff?" The familiar name tastes like venom in Arya's mouth. "Joffrey Baratheon?"

Gendry raises an eyebrow. "How do you know him? I thought you were new here."

"I am." Gendry keeps staring at her. There's no way he's going to leave it at that, not if he's as stubborn as Arya herself. So finally Arya adds, "He's engaged to my sister." And then before Gendry has a chance to respond, she slips between the two people standing in front of her so that she's out of Gendry's reach and standing right on the road for the race. _Gendry's tall enough. He won't lose me_, she thinks. _And it's best to not let him ask too many questions. _

Joffrey Baratheon. The name turns bile in Arya's stomach. Joffrey is the son of Robert Baratheon, her father's old boss. A few years ago her father, vice president of Robert's company, was fired without reason. Her father suspected that Robert's wife had something to do with it, but with no evidence, he had to choose between quitting the company or dealing with a lawsuit. At the time, Sansa was interning for the company, and she was head over heels in love with Joffrey. The same day her father was fired, Joffrey asked Sansa to marry him. And Sansa said yes.

There's a reason Arya doesn't talk to her sister anymore. How could Sansa marry Joffrey knowing what his family did to her father? It doesn't make sense. It's horrible. Arya wishes her parents had dragged Sansa home the minute she put that ring on her finger, but instead they told her she was an adult and she could make her own choices.

The Baratheon's own a multi-billion dollar corporation involved luxury car production, and they heavily invest in NASCAR, but Joffrey enjoys betting on illegal races on the side. Not that Joffrey races himself. He's too pathetic for that. Instead, he pays someone to race for him.

Arya chews her lip, wondering for the first time if Sansa will be at the race tonight. It hadn't occurred to her. Sansa never like racing. She said it was stupid, dirty, and dangerous. Sure, she would watch Jon and Robb race, and she would laugh and cheer, but afterwards should would always say how _boring _and _droll _the whole sport was.

A loud buzzer blows, and suddenly Arya is pulled out of her thoughts. She focuses on the street before her. Five cars are racing quickly down the road, side by side with only an inch between each one. If one of them swerves, just a tiny bit, they'll all crash into each other. As the cars zoom by her with a burst of harsh wind, Arya thinks she recognizes Jon. Not that she had time to see his face, but she recognizes his driving style, hanging back just a bit, waiting to speed forward at the end and catch the others racers by surprise. She wonders how many races that tactic has won him over the years.

Arya used to try Jon's tactic, but it always made her too anxious. What if she didn't get the chance to cut in front of a car? What if she waited too long to speed up? Arya would rather start in the lead and end in the lead.

After the cars zoom past her, Arya steps out into the road. She watches them trail quickly down the street, smoke billowing down the road behind them. She keeps watching until they disappear into the horizon.

Arya weaves back between the crowd, back to Gendry's side. His dark eyes are trained on her, not the road. "You shouldn't run off like that," he says, his voice cut and low. "I can't protect you if you disappear."

"I didn't disappear. And I don't need you to protect me." Arya crosses her arms. "I've been perfectly safe."

"So far," Gendry says.

Arya rolls her eyes. "So where are they racing to?" Arya asks. Each circuit has a different layout for their race.

"They'll lap around Cross Boulevard before circling back the way they came. The finish line is the starting line." He glances down at his watch. "They'll be back in about five minutes, assuming they don't all crash before then."

"I want to get closer."

"We're close enough."

"No. I want to get closer to the finish line."

Gendry looks at her with that stubborn, bull headed glare. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"What's the point of taking me to a race if I can't actually _see_ the race? Come on." She grabs Gendry's wrist and tries to tug him forward. He doesn't budge. She tugs harder. "Why are you so big?" Arya grunts, tugging harder. "Come on. I'm going with our without you."

"That's a shock." Gendry quickly scans the crowd before looking back down at Arya. "Fine, but if I say it's time to leave, we leave. All right?"

"All right." Arya agrees impatiently. At least she mostly won the argument.

They start to weave through the crowds. Arya is leading, and she quickly ducks between people, slides between tiny gaps.

"Slow down," Gendry says, his large bulk making it a lot harder to get past people. Arya ignores him, knowing he'll catch up eventually. She wants to see the finish of the race, and she isn't going to let some stubborn fool hold her up.

On the side of the road, there's a tent set up parallel to the finish line. When Arya sees it, she stops short, causing Gendry to crash into her. She almost falls the ground, but he grabs her by the shoulders, steadying her with warm, calloused hands. "Sorry," she mutters, face flushed.

"Why'd you stop?"

Arya swallows dryly. She's staring at the tent, where seated in the pavilion is a beautiful young woman with bright auburn hair. Joffrey is standing over her, a hand clutched tightly on her shoulder as he shouts at the empty road. "Hurry up then, you stupid fucking dog!" His screams pierce through the noisy crowd.

Gendry steps forward to stand next to Arya. "Is that your sister then? The red-headed one?"

"You mean the pretty one?" When Sansa and Arya were children, everyone would always fawn over Sansa's porcelain skin, over her wide, beautiful eyes. And then they would turn to Arya and say that sometimes it takes awhile to grow into your looks.

"I've met her before," Gendry says. "Not properly though."

"Yeah." Arya feels defensive for some reason. Sansa and Gendry are two very opposite things in her mind. She doesn't like the idea of them interacting. "I bet she didn't have much to say to a dumb mechanic." The insult comes out quickly, unthinkingly.

"No. She didn't."

Arya pauses, trying to think of something less rude to say. "So you know Joff then?"

"I've done a lot of work for his dog's car." Gendry looks down at Arya and smirks. "He pays me even more than you do."

"His dog?"

"His racer. It's just something people call him. He's feral and wild and mean. He races and Joff pays." Gendry shakes his head slowly. "He's a hell of contender to drive against. Doesn't give a shit if he gets hurt. Those are always the dangerous ones. If they don't care about themselves, than they sure as hell don't care about you."

"I'll keep that in mind." Arya's words are cut off as the roar of engines emerge from the silent night. She steps forward, minding to keep out of sight of the spectators in the tent. Gendry follows her lead, and they watch side by side as the cars race back down the road. There are only three in sight, and Arya is relieved to see that Jon's car is one of them.

"The other two must have crashed," Gendry says softly.

"Guess so."

It's a close race with Jon's car and a dark black model that Arya doesn't recognize tied for first. "That's Joff's guy. His car is custom built through and through. I did a lot of the engine work myself."

"I can't believe you work for them," Arya mutters.

"Why? What do you have against them? Not that I'm a big fan myself, but the money is good, and I take what I can get."

Arya ignores Gendry as the cars approach the finish line. She bites her lip. Even though Jon was so cold with her earlier in the week, she still hopes that he wins the race.

And he does. By just an inch. But he wins.

The crowd bursts into shouts, some angry, some happy. Some people are slipping quickly away and others are rushing towards the cars that just finished the race. Arya hesitates, considering going up to Jon and congratulating him. They'll meet on the street eventually, and she hates being separated from him again after so many years passing.

But the street is thick with people, and she decides against it.

Suddenly the crowd parts, and there's a wave a silence. Joffrey is striding towards the street as his driver emerges from his car. Arya can hear Joffrey's screams slicing through the air. "What the fuck kind of driving was that? I don't pay you to lose you stupid piece of-" Arya wonders how Joffrey gets away with yelling at a broad, scarred man that must be at least fifteen years older than him.

She steps forward, just a bit, so that she can hear better. From the corner of her eye, she spots Sansa. Her sister is sitting head down, hands clasped tightly. "We should go," Gendry says, placing a hand on Arya's shoulder. "It's not smart to hang around when Joffrey loses."

"Yeah. Okay," Arya responds. As she turns around, Sansa's eyes flash to hers, just for a second, but she knows there's recognition. Sansa furrows her brow, her eyes filled with confusion.

She starts to stand up, but Arya weaves through the crowds and disappears.

**A/N – ****Follow me on twitter: LJSilverman **

**Thanks for reading and reviewing! Hopefully the next chapter will be out faster : )**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N – ****Okay- I promised that there would be Sansa interludes in the story, so here is the first one. The first part of this chapter is a flashback, and the rest of it is in present time, interweaved with Arya's story. Enjoy!**

**Sansa POV. 1 Year Ago.**

Midday light streams through the windows of Joffrey's office. His office is on the twentieth story of the building, providing a breathtaking view of San Diego. Sansa stands at the window, her arms wrapped around her stomach, her fingernails digging tightly into her small waist. It's a beautiful day, yet everything in her life seems to be crumbling to pieces.

"Marry me," Joffrey repeats. Sansa slowly turns around to face Joffrey. He's staring at her; his normally playful eyes are cold and calculating. There's a golden ring sitting in his open palm, a large, pure diamond set in the center. It's beautiful. Stunning.

She wants to throw it in his face.

"Marry you?" She says, her voice high and tight. "You fired my father today, and now you're asking me to marry you? What do you expect me to say, Joffrey? I loved you, _I love you_, but how am I supposed to marry you now? How am I supposed to keep on loving you knowing what you did?"

Joffrey narrows his eyes. "I didn't fire your father. He quit. And I don't see what one thing has to do with the other."

"How do you not see it?" Sansa digs her fingers deeper into her waist. "My family is everything to me. You know that. I don't _want _to marry you. Not after what you did to my father."

"You will marry me, and you will do it happily." Joffrey takes a step forward, and Sansa finds herself instinctively backing up against the window. There's a fury in his eyes. A fury she's only seen a few times in the past year. A fury that makes her stomach tighten with nerves and her face pale with fear.

But she won't let fear win.

"No. I won't marry you."

Joffrey shakes his head slowly as he continues to approach. "You stupid, ungrateful bitch." The words slice through Sansa, and her bottom lip starts to tremble. "You marry me, or I will sue your father for every penny he's worth. And then I'll throw him in jail. You marry me or your precious daddy will rot away in a cell while you turn old and gray."

Tears start welling in Sansa's eyes, and she furtively wipes them away, smudging her eyeliner and mascara. She tries to keep her voice steady when she speaks. "Why are you being so mean, Joff? He hasn't done anything wrong. _I _haven't done anything wrong. You can't put him in jail. Please don't. Please."

"Maybe I can't put him in jail, but my lawyers sure as hell can. Now say yes, and get the hell out of here."

"Why would you want to marry a woman who doesn't want you?"

Joffrey sighs and rubs his face. "I forgot how stupid you could be. My darling, fragile, innocent Sansa. How can I explain this to you?" Joffrey pauses. "Let's see. Despite your father's rather sudden absence, the Stark name is still a powerful name in the industry. Let's just say a lot of our clients will be upset when they hear about Eddard leaving the company, and I'll be thrilled to tell them that his beautiful daughter Sansa is still with us. It'll put their stupid little minds at ease to hear that the Starks and Baratheons are still united as one."

"That's awful."

"That's business."

Joffrey takes a final step forward so that he is only an inch away from Sansa. He grabs one of her hands and pries open the clenched fingers. Sansa bites her lip sharply and looks away as Joffrey slides the diamond ring onto her finger. _He's won_, Sansa thinks_, he knows I'd do anything to help my father. _Joffrey looks up, his eyes flickering with pleasure, with success."Now take the ring and get out. I'll see you at eight for dinner. They'll be some prospective clients there, so be sure to wear something tight, and make sure your face isn't all red and blotchy."

"All right," Sansa says. She takes a step forward, but as she passes Joffrey, he grabs her tightly by the wrist, jerks her forward, and plants a cold kiss on her ivory cheek.

* * *

**Current Time**

The night after the race, Arya runs through Sansa's dreams, speeding down the roads into pitch-black horizons. Sansa calls out for her sister, but Arya never hears her, never stops racing forward. When Sansa wakes up, pale light is shining through the curtains. Her heart is racing wildly and her skin is pale and moist. "Arya," she whispers in the empty room. But no one answers.

She saw her last night. She knows she did. It was just for a second, but she could spot those trained cat-like eyes in the largest of crowds. But then Arya was darting through the masses of people, disappearing into the throng. _I have to find her_, Sansa thinks. _I can't let this silence continue._

She hasn't seen her little sister for over a year now, not since Joffrey proposed. When Sansa told her parents she was going to marry Joffrey, they told her she was a grown woman and could make her own decisions. But the engagement hung heavy in her heart, and she hasn't returned home for a year. She can't face her family. Not like this. Too many lies are piled up on top of each other, and one wrong word to her mother could have them all tumbling to the ground.

At first, Sansa tried calling Arya, texting her, even sending her the occasional email. But there was never a response.

And who could blame her stubborn little sister? Arya has every right to be mad. If it were the other way around, if Sansa thought Arya was marrying was Joffrey without any logical explanation, she would be just as angry. She would scream at her sister, call her stupid and selfish, and turn her back with simmering anger.

_And that's why I have to explain to Arya what Joffrey is making me do. Our parents can never find out. Father would make me come home immediately. He wouldn't understand that it's a sacrifice for the whole family, not just for him. But Arya, I can tell Arya. And she will keep my secret, and we will be sisters again._

Sansa sighs and climbs out of bed. It's still early. She was never one to sleep in. The birds rise at dawn, and so does she.

Her computer is sitting, humming softly on her desk. Sansa sits down, drumming her fingers on the table. _Now how do I find that little weasel..._

After a few moments of thought, Sansa pulls up the website of her bank and types in Arya's email address for the username. The password is easy: CERSJAR. Arya and Sansa have been using the same password since they were little girls. It's the first initials of every member in their family. It's probably a dumb password- their accounts would be easy to hack into, but if Arya is like Sansa in any way, than she's never gotten around the changing it.

Sansa is rewarded when the password is accepted and the website moves through to the next page. She clicks on **recent transactions **and smiles when she sees a $42 charge under Super 8 Motel off of El Cajon Boulevard. Sansa knows the place well. She drives past it every day on the way to work. _And today I'll make a special pit stop._

* * *

It only takes a few minutes of flirting to charm the man at the front desk into giving away Arya's room number. Room 26. Sansa circles the building until she finds the right room. The shades are pulled close, but Sansa recognizes Arya's car parked out front. She approaches the motel door and takes a small breath before rapping loudly, three times. After a few moments, the shade flickers, and the side of Arya's face appears and disappears within a second.

"Go away," Arya shouts from behind the thick door.

"No." Sansa expected nothing less than a stubborn, pigheaded greeting.

"Go. Away."

"No."

"You can't stand there all day."

"Want to bet? I know Nymeria's in there. I heard her barking, so you might as well stop trying to muffle her. She'll have to come out and use the bathroom sometime. And you'll have to eat. So I'm not leaving until you open the door."

A minute passes. Silence. Another minute.

And then the door opens, and Arya is standing there. Arya- her sister who she hasn't seen for an entire year. And Sansa is shocked.

She only got a quick glimpse of Arya last night, so she didn't have time to notice how much her little sister had changed. Arya is at least a few inches taller than last year, and her curves have filled out. Her face has lost all of its baby fat, and she's, well- stunning. The scrawny, oily haired girl has disappeared and turned into a beautiful woman.

"You're stupid," Arya says.

At least she hasn't changed completely.

"I know," Sansa responds. "Now can I come in?"

"I don't know." Arya looks down at Nymeria and asks her dog, "Do you think we should let Sansa in?"

In response, Nymeria treads forward and starts licking Sansa's hand, rubbing her head against Sansa's stomach. "Nymeria says yes," Sansa says, trying not to sound too smug.

Arya rolls her eyes. "Traitor," she tells Nymeria. She opens the door a bit wider. "All right then. Come in."

The motel is dimly lit and empty. Arya's suitcase sits on the floor, a mess of tangled clothes inside. "You haven't been here long," Sansa says.

"Just a couple of days." Arya heads back to her bed and sits cross-legged on the mattress. Sansa was always jealous of Arya's skinny legs. Her sister could eat every last drop of food in the house, and she never gained a pound. Sansa had to work hard to keep her trim figure. "How did you find me?"

Sansa shrugs her shoulders. "Looked at your bank records."

"Smart. I should probably change my password."

"Probably." Sansa clasps her fingers together, nervously playing with Joffrey's ring. "You never returned my calls."

As Arya glances at the ring, her face hardens. "So?"

"So you're my sister. And I've missed you."

"You never seemed to like me much in the first place."

"That's not true, and you know it."

"You're a traitor." The words are sharp and slicing.

Sansa shakes her head, trying to stay calm. She's always been the emotional one in the family, but she can't help it. To her, feelings are as alive and real as any tangible thing. And harsh words cut like steel. Her throat feels thick, choked. "You don't know what you're talking about, Arya. You don't-" she takes a breath. "You don't know what I've sacrificed for our family."

"You're a _liar_. You've sacrificed nothing. You've been playing pretty princess with Joffrey fucking Baratheon while our father-"

Sansa's temper suddenly snaps. She came here on a mission, and she isn't going to let her little sister bully her out of it. "I _said _you don't know what you're talking about. Why don't you try shutting up for two seconds, just two seconds, and let me explain. Do you think you can do that Arya? Don't you owe me at least that much?

Arya looks up. Her eyes filled with cold, empty. "I don't owe you anything."

Sansa has to collect herself before speaking again. She has to tell herself that Arya doesn't mean the cruel words falling from her lips, that she's saying them out of anger, out of spite and ignorance. Finally Sansa says, "Please. Just let me explain what happened. And if after that you're still angry, I'll leave and never bother you again. All right?"

Arya looks to Nymeria before answering. The large beast is lying on the floor, head resting on her paws, staring at Arya with trained, sharp eyes. "All right."

* * *

"You look nice," Joffrey says as he pulls out a chair for Sansa. She's late, but hopefully her dress makes up for it. Tightly fitted with long sheer sleeves. After explaining everything to Arya, they spent the whole day catching up with each other. It wasn't until seven that Sansa looked at the clock and realized she was supposed to be at dinner.

"Thank you." Sansa looks around the restaurant table. Joffrey's mother is there, along with his uncle, and his racer Sandor. The older, scarred man is staring off into the distance, completely uninterested in the people around him. Sansa finds herself glimpsing at Sandor all too often. Something about the harsh man makes her skin tingle, with excitement, and more so with fear.

"Doesn't she look beautiful?" Joffrey asks the table.

"Stunning," Cersei responds. "A true rose."

"I can only hope to age as well as you," Sansa responds. "I swear you don't look a day older than thirty."

"You're sweet." Cersei smiles. "But a liar."

"I am no such thing. You're as beautiful as the day I met you, and I was only a young girl then."

"You're still a young girl," Cersei responds.

"Shall we order then?" Jaime asks. "I'm starved."

"You're always starved," Joffrey says. "Good thing you make so much money or I'd fire you for eating through our profits."

The empty threat hangs heavy in the air. Even though Jaime is twice Joffrey's age and his uncle, Joffrey could still fire him without a moment's notice. Joffrey has too much power for a man that still acts with the mentality of a boy. When he turned eighteen, his father Robert made him a partner in the company. To this day, prospective clients ask why a boy was made partner before he even graduated from college.

Sansa sips her water quietly, not wishing to involve herself if Jaime retorts with a snide remark. She sneaks a glance at Sandor who is still sitting silently, his twisted face trained on the white tablecloth. Sansa doesn't know why Joffrey insists on dragging his racer everywhere. She asked him once, and Joffrey said Sandor was his bodyguard. Sansa snorted and asked why on earth he would need a bodyguard.

After a year together, Sansa learned the answer to her question. Joffrey makes enemies all too easily. There are plenty of people out there who would want to hurt him, especially those on the racing circuit. Sansa remembers one night in particular when a disgruntled racer accused Joffrey of cheating, tried to attack him, and Sandor beat the man to a pulp with raw, bloody fists.

Sometimes she still dreams about that night. And many others like it, her stomach turning with distaste at the horridness of her fiancé.

And Sandor's constant presence makes Sansa uncomfortable. He's never said more than ten words to her, but sometimes she'll catch him staring, deep, black eyes looking straight through her. And sometimes, when Joffrey has had too many glasses of wine and gets a bit too rough, she'll notice Sandor standing silently by with clenched white knuckles and a tremor in his scarred cheek. _If you don't like watching Joffrey be a tyrant, than do something about it_, she once wanted to tell Sandor. _Starring doesn't help anybody. _

"Sansa. Are you listening to me?" Joffrey asks. Sansa's attention is jerked back to the present as Joffrey grabs her thigh, gripping it tightly.

"Sorry, dear. What is it?"

"Tell Jaime why my father is passing the presidency to me and not him." Robert has determined that he will resign in the coming year. _I'm sick of the whole damn business_, he yelled one night, his face red with wine. Jaime almost had a fit when Robert named Joffrey the heir. _He's my son, Lannister, _Robert said_, you're a good brother-in-law, a good worker, but the company goes to my son._ Jaime had laughed harshly and said, _you're son Robert is only twenty-two and an utter fool._

"Go on then," Joffrey repeats, "Tell Jaime why I'm going to be the president."

"Because you're Robert's son," Sansa responds. "And you are smart. And cunning. And will do this company only good. Because the man I am marrying is a strong man, a great one." Joffrey beams at her when she finishes, his hand loosening it's grip as it slowly moves up her bare thigh towards the hem of her dress. Sansa wonders if her voice sounds empty to him. She wonders if he cares at all.

**A/N ****– I hope you guys liked the chapter! I hope Sansa's voice was fitting to her character. We will be back to Arya and Gendry next chapter. **

**Thank you so much for all of the reviews, alerts, and favorites. It really keeps me writing.**

**Follow me on Twitter! LJSilverman**

**Mrschuckbass10 – **** Yes, in this story, Cat IS Jon's mother. I still wanted them to have a very strained relationship, and he needed a reason to leave home, so that's why I wrote in the accident with Bran.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N ****- Sorry if any of the spacing/formatting is weird in this chapter. Fanfiction is being a bitch.**

"So I've seen a race. Now how do I actually race in one?" Arya asks after taking a bite of her apple. She's sitting cross-legged on a workbench in Gendry's shop. Her eyes are trained on Gendry as he works on a broken HEMI engine. Gendry's back muscles strain under his tank, sweat glistening on his bare skin. She likes watching him work. There's an intensity to it. From his dark eyes to the tips of his greased fingers. Arya takes another bite of her apple

Gendry stands up straight and turns around to face Arya. She quickly averts her gaze. The more time she spends with Gendry, the more unsettled she feels around him. "I can't believe you still want to race. You saw what it's like out there. You saw how Joffrey can get. It's not safe, Arya."

"I'm not afraid of Joffrey." Arya bites her lip. That's not entirely true. She _is_ afraid of Joffrey, but Sansa promised she would do everything possible to keep his temper under control if Arya started racing. _Just make sure to race anonymously_, Sansa had said, _Joffrey has no clue that Jon is my brother. And he'd better not find out that you're my sister. _

"That's a stupid thing to say. You should be afraid of him. If you're not afraid than you can't protect yourself."

"Fine. I'm a little worried about the little shit, but that's not going to stop me from racing. Now are you going to help me, or am I going to have to figure this out on my own?"

Gendry sighs. He places his wrench down on the hood of the car and wipes his hands on his dirty workpants. Arya chews her lip as Gendry walks forward and sits on the bench next to her. She curls up her legs and holds them to her stomach. "I'll help you." Gendry smiles softly and knocks Arya on the shoulder. "You know I'll help you."

"Glad to know you're good for something."

"One day, you're going to be nice to me, Arya Stark."

"I _am _nice to you."

"Well then I'd hate to see you mean." Gendry's blue eyes sparkle as he teases her, and Arya's face flushes. _Stupid boys with their stupid good looks and their stupid everything. _Arya knows she should keep away from Gendry. He's too much of a distraction. But there's no one else to help her, and as much as she hates to admit it, she enjoys his company too much to get rid of him. "So you want to know how to get into a race," Gendry says, finally getting to the point. "I guess there are a few ways."

"Go on, then. What are they?"

"One way is to get on Joffrey's good side. Talk him up. Flatter him. Whatever you have to do to make him like you. Or at least like you enough to take money from you."

Arya grimaces. "I don't see that happening. What else you got?"

"Money is always an easy in. If you have enough of it, you can bribe the guys on the circuit to get you into a race. You can also bet a high amount on yourself to up your odds and create some interest."

Arya chews her lip. "Money is getting tight."

"Really?" Gendry smirks. "Arya Stark is out of money?"

"Maybe I shouldn't have given it all to you."

"I didn't even charge you for helping you out at the races."

"But you did charge me twice over for the work on my car. Work I could have done myself."

Gendry smirks. "I doubt that. You might be a racer, and you might have a sharp mind for the machinery, but you don't have a mechanic's build." He grabs Arya's small hands, and she flinches in surprise at the sudden contact. She's not used to being touched. Especially by strange men with blue eyes. "Your hands are tiny. Look at them. I bet you couldn't even fit one around the width of a radial cog."

Having Gendry's hands on her own does strange things to Arya. Her face flushes as his calloused thumbs grip her soft skin. She can't look him in the eye. Feeling flustered, she quickly snatches her hands away. "Well then it's a good thing I don't have a broken radial cog, isn't it?"

"I guess it is." Gendry is smirking, but Arya doesn't know why. The mischievous grin makes her even more uncomfortable, so she decides to change the subject.

"So what's the third way? Besides sticking my nose up Joffrey's ass or throwing away money I don't have?"

"The third way is a bit trickier. Basically you just have to impress them. You know, make a name for yourself."

Arya crosses her arms. "How do I do that? I took you for a spin, but I don't think I could fit half the San Diego race circuit in my back seat."

"I guess you'll have to get creative."

"That's _very _helpful, Gendry. You're an absolute fucking genius."

"I love how you still manage to insult me while asking for my help."

"It's not my fault you're so _stupid._"

Gendry leans forward so that he's inches from Arya's face. He locks eyes with her, and she can't bring herself to turn away. "If I'm so stupid, then why do you keep coming back here? I fixed your car days ago. "

"Because," Arya says, flustered by the intensity of his gaze.

"Because why?"

"Because I need help. But obviously I'm not going to get it from a giant, empty-headed idiot like you. So you know what? You're right. I don't know why I'm here. So thank you for all of your great advice and goodbye." Arya shoves Gendry hard in the shoulders so that he falls back onto the bench. And then she stands up and sprints out of the shop before he has a chance to respond.

_He's stupid_, she tells herself, _stupid and mean, and I don't need him. I don't need anyone. _

* * *

It was an easy guess that there'd be a race on Friday night. Arya parks her car far down the road and dims her headlights. She has to squint, but she can see people accumulating in the same spot as last time. She can see cars beginning to line up at the start line. There's an electricity in the air, and Arya flexes her hands in anticipation.

Nothing like crashing a race on a beautiful night to get the pulse racing.

She glances at the clock on her car: 11:55. The race will probably start at midnight. She hopes the drivers are as predictable as their round circuit.

On the inside, Arya's anxious, a bundle of nerves and an uneasy stomach. But on the outside, she's perfectly calm. She has one hand resting on the wheel and the other on her gearshift. Her racing gloves are soft and leather, worn through and through.

At 11:59, she turns her car back on, and the engine hums softly beneath her. She chews her lip slowly. This could work out well. Or it could go very, very wrong.

Arya rolls down her window and listens for it- the sound of the whistle. Sweat gathers underneath the brim of her hat, but she's too tense to wipe it away. And suddenly, the whistle sounds, piercing through the silent night. Down the road she sees the cars pitch forward as they start to race down the street.

Arya presses her foot to the pedal.

She accelerates quickly, hitting sixty, than a hundred, than a hundred and fifty. The crowd only has a second to see her speeding past the start line, but she knows they see her. And she wonders what they're thinking about the crazy girl crashing a closed raced.

There are only three other cars racing tonight, and Arya slowly relaxes and starts to grin as she approaches them from behind. They might have had a head start, but on the open road, she can push dangerous speeds without the fear of crashing. And she's catching up to them quickly.

The car in the back is the first to notice her. It separates from the pack, slowing down just enough so that Arya can sidle up beside it. The driver turns to face her, and Arya almost swerves off the road, startled by the man's grim, scarred face. Dark black eyes stare right through her, and Arya shifts her head, hoping her hat conceals most of her face. The man smirks, the line breaking like a crack against his burned face, and then he turns forward and speeds ahead, leaving a distracted Arya trailing in his dust.

_Dumb, dumb_, Arya tells herself. _You should have sped ahead when he slowed down. _She's rusty. She hasn't raced in a couple of months, and now she's up against racers that could drive laps around her old competitors in Montana. _Get it together. _

She re-grips the wheel, her fingers already sweaty inside her leather gloves, and she pushes the pedal down hard, rocketing forward, straight in line for the dog's bumper. At the last second, she swerves to the side so that she can pass him. He moves left, trying to inch her car off the road, but Arya has just enough speed to get away from him.

For a second, she wonders what Gendry did to her engine. It seems to be working better than ever. But she pushes the thought away. Gendry sends her mind spinning, and she really doesn't need another distraction right now.

With the scarred man trailing closely behind her, Arya turns her attention to the other two cars. They're neck and neck and edging dangerously close to the right side of the road. Back home racers pretty much leave each other alone. It's all about speed and precision. Apparently San Diego likes to play the game a little more dangerously.

As Arya gets closer, she can tell that one of the cars is Jon's. He's on the inner edge, closest to the center of the road. As Arya prepares to pass him, she lifts the brim of her hat, making sure that he can see her face clearly as she zooms by. It's a dirty trick, but she needs to win this race, and the easiest way to do that is to distract Jon. She feels bad for cheating him, but she _has _to win, and for Jon, it's just one race in hundreds.

And sure enough, as she passes, Jon turns to her. His face transforms: rigid mouth, and hard, angry eyes. He's furious.

Arya feels bad.

But when Jon falters in speed, she accelerates at full force and pushes past him, and she feels a lot better.

The circuit itself is easy. A long, stretched-out lap that rounds back to the finish line. Arya, having the advantage of surprising the shit out of her opponents, manages to surge ahead with relative ease. She won't _actually_ win the race of course. No one is going to give money or credit to someone who crashes a race after it already started, but her little stunt _will_ get her plenty of attention. And hopefully seeing her drive will convince the circuit to let her into a legitimate race.

That or they'll throw her out and threaten to kill her if she ever steps foot in San Diego again.

Arya glances in her mirror. The scarred man's car is now closest behind her, but there are still a few feet between them, and the finish line is looming closely. Arya bites her lip, trying to hold back a smile. She doesn't want to celebrate until the race is actually won.

And she wants to win in style.

She slams her foot down on the gas and accelerates to full speed. Her car shudders beneath her as it launches forward. She's nearing 200 mph as she passes the finish line. The second she crosses it, she quickly shifts gears, decelerates, and brings her car to a halting stop in just a few seconds. Burned tire marks smoke behind her, and the rest of the cars have to swerve to keep from hitting her.

She did it. She won.

But now comes the hard part.

Arya glances out her window, and a crowd of stunned spectators stare back at her. Some are angry, some are cheering, and some are just standing there with gaping mouths. Arya turns her attention to Sansa who is currently trying to pull Joffrey back by the arm. He's livid, red-faced and screaming. Arya cracks her window just an inch so she that can hear him. "Who the hell does this fucking street rat bitch thinks she is? She can't fucking crash a race and expect to get away with it! Where the hell is my dog? Sandor!"

Sansa tries to calm Joffrey down, but he shoves her aside, and she falls to the ground. Arya furrows her brow as her stomach boils with distaste. She can't wait to show Joffrey where he can shove it.

For a moment she considers driving away. Most of the crowd seems all right, but there are a few people, including Joffrey, who look like they're ready to rip Arya limb to limb. _But driving away would defeat the whole purpose, wouldn't it? I wanted them to notice me, and notice me they did. _

Slowly, Arya unlocks her car door and steps outside. She makes sure to pull the brim of her hat low over her face. Even though she's only met him a couple of times, she doesn't want Joffrey to recognize her. There's no way he'd ever allow Eddard Stark's daughter to race in his circuit. Especially not after everything Sansa told her earlier in the week.

As soon as she emerges from the car, she looks towards Jon. But he's keeping his face averted, sitting on the hood of his car with clenched fists. _Good. Best to deal with him later. _

"You!" Joffrey says. He's still standing at the sidelines. "Sandor. Grab her."

The dog is standing midway down the road, smack dab between Arya and Joffrey. Sandor is over six feet tall with broad shoulders and hard, black eyes. He doesn't look like someone Arya would want to mess with. He doesn't look like someone The Hulk would want to mess with.

Slowly, Sandor turns towards Joffrey. His voice is low, harsh and rasping. "No."

"Excuse me?"

"I said no. If you want the girl- get her yourself."

"Dog. I command you to-"

"I said no."

The entire crowd is silent as they watch the exchange with wide eyes. Joffrey is obviously confused, probably wondering why his employee is refusing him. "And why not?"

"She raced well. I won't harm her for racing well."

"She crashed the race."

"And won it."

"By cheating."

A horrible smile cracks against Sandor's scarred face. "We were the ones with the head start. If you want her, you can take her." Without saying anything else, Sandor walks back to his car, gets inside, and drives away.

"This- this is an outrage!" Joffrey exclaims. His face is quickly turning bright red. "Someone get that girl and-" Joffrey looks around weakly, realizing no one is going to help him. "Fine. I'll do it myself, you worthless fucking people," he finally spits out.

As Joffrey strides forward, Arya instinctively grabs her door handle. Joffrey's not a big man, but he's much bigger than her, and his eyes are filled with cold hate. His grin is wild, manic. "Come here. And take off that stupid hat, so I can see your ugly face."

Arya bites her lip, unsure of what to do next. She could jump in her car and drive away, or she could stand up to Joffrey and-

And what? Beat him up? Let him beat her up?

There doesn't seem to be a single way to get what she wants. She's pissed off Joffrey, and that's the end of it. Better to get away now before he figures out who she really is.

Just as Arya opens her car door, a man emerges from the crowd. "Enough!" He shouts. He's tall, broad, and handsome. His blue eyes meet Arya's, and unprecedented relief floods through her. _Gendry. _"I said enough," he repeats. "Leave the girl alone."

**A/N – Sorry it's been awhile since the last update! Life got a little bit hectic. I hope you guys enjoyed this last chapter. Thank you so much for all of the great reviews!**

**Also- I don't claim to have any real knowledge about racing- so if some of the facts or speeds or anything seem off to you, please let me know, and I will fix them. Any help is appreciated.**

**And- a lot of you mentioned that I left out Bran's name in the password last chapter. I can't believe so many of you caught that! Sorry for the mistake : ) **

**Thanks for reading and reviewing! **


	7. Chapter 7

Just as Arya opens her car door, a man emerges from the crowd. "Enough!" He shouts. He's tall, broad, and handsome. His blue eyes meet Arya's, and unprecedented relief floods through her. Gendry. "I said enough," he repeats. "Leave the girl alone."

Gendry plants himself directly between Arya and Joffrey. Arya quickly steps to the side so that she can still see Joffrey glaring furiously at the pair of them.

"Gendry?" Joffrey asks. "What are you doing here? This isn't your business."

"It's my business if I say it is." Arya flashes a glance towards Gendry. His playful blue eyes are hard and steady. His fists are clenched tightly, and his jaw is rigid. _He's protecting me_, Arya says, _and I don't know why, but I'm glad he's here._

Joffrey takes another step forward, but he doesn't look very menacing. Not when Gendry is almost half a foot taller than him. "Gendry- leave. Now. Leave before I make sure you never have another client from the circuit again. Leave before I make sure your tiny excuse for a mechanic's shop goes bankrupt within the month. You know I have the power to make your life crumble to ashes."

Gendry is silent for a moment, but when he speaks, his voice is even harsher than before, "Leave the girl alone."

Joffrey narrows his eyes. "You seem to have a very peculiar interest in this girl. Why do you care what happens to her?" Joffrey's gaze flickers towards Arya, and she furtively tugs down her cap, praying that he won't recognize her. "Is she a friend of yours? A _lover_, perhaps?"

The word _lover _makes a deep blush crawl up the back of Arya's neck. "Yes. I know her, but I don't see how our relationship concerns you."

"It concerns me because I want to FUCKING KNOW WHAT THIS _BITCH _IS DOING ON MY TRACK!" Joffrey's face is bright red. His scream echoes down the road, and the remaining crowd of people all seem to take a step back. _Someone so tiny and pathetic shouldn't be allowed to bully so many people_, Arya thinks.

"Why don't you try asking me nicely?" Gendry asks. He doesn't bother trying to hide the condescending tone of his voice. For someone who kept trying to warn Arya not to mess with Joffrey, Gendry doesn't seem to be the least bit scared of the little tyrant.

Joffrey takes a sharp breath, perhaps trying to control his rage. "What's her name?"

Arya stills her breath. What if Gendry tells him? He doesn't know the full story. He doesn't know what Joffrey would do if he found out Ned Stark's daughter was racing in San Diego. He doesn't know that Joffrey would immediately accuse Sansa of consorting with the enemy. He doesn't know...

Gendry turns to Arya, and she catches his deep blue eyes. His intense gaze makes her shiver, and she hopes that he can read her thoughts. _Don't tell him my name, don't tell him my name, don't tell him my name. _Arya repeats the silent chant over and over again. Something flickers in Gendry's gaze, and she prays that he understands.

"I'm waiting," Joffrey says. "It isn't a very hard question, even for a dumb fucking mechanic."

Actually, it's not just Joffrey that's waiting. The entire crowd is silent, and they are all staring at Gendry, waiting for an answer. Everyone wants to know who the mystery girl is, and Arya hopes that they'll never find out. She flashes a glance at Jon who is still sitting on the hood of his car. _I wonder how he keeps getting away with it. Living a lie. I've been in San Diego less than a week, and my cover is already about to be blown. _

Finally, Gendry turns back towards Joffrey. Arya's pulse starts racing, and her mouth is dry. _Please don't tell him. Please don't. _Gendry opens his mouth and says, "Her name's Cat."

"Cat?" Joffrey asks.

"Cat of El Cajon." Relief floods through Arya. Thank god Gendry isn't as stupid as he sometimes acts. And the name is oddly fitting. Her parents used to call her a little cat because she would sneak around the house day and night like a cat hunting for tiny mice.

At this point, the tense crowd seems to fill with excitement. A few people even step forward a snap a picture on their cell phone. They're probably sending the photo out to everyone on the circuit: _New mystery racer. Cat of El Cajon. _

Arya makes sure to keep her head tilted down and the hat pulled low. Joffrey seems to accept her name, but that doesn't mean she's out of trouble. It's time to defend herself instead of having Gendry speak for her. She takes a small step forward, and eyes down, says, "Joffrey, I'm sorry for crashing the race, but it was the only way to get your attention. I'd like the chance to race on your circuit. Legitimately."

"Why would I let you do that? You crash my race. Insult my drivers. Refuse to show your face. I see no reason to let you step foot on this circuit again, much less take part in a race."

_Time to flatter the fool_, Arya thinks. "Joffrey, this is the best circuit on the West Coast. You know that. Everyone knows that. You run a great operation here, one I've always admired. And I just want to be a part of this great thing you've created. Please. Let me race once, and if you don't like me, I'll leave and never come back."

"Well, you're right about that. This is the best circuit. And not just on the West Coast, but also in the whole country. But I still don't see what's in it for me. Why should I let you race?"

Arya smiles slowly. It must look strange to Joffrey, since he can only see her smile and not her shaded eyes. "Bet on me."

"I bet on my dog."

"Your dog just lost." Arya slips a scrap of paper out of the pocket of her tight black jeans. She balls it up and throws it to Joffrey. "If you want me to show up, have someone contact me. If not, it was nice meeting you Mr. Lannister."

"How do you know my name?"

"Everyone knows your name." With that, Arya turns around and walks back towards her car. As she touches the door handle, she looks up at Gendry. He's staring at her, expression unreadable. "Well are you coming or not?" Arya asks.

Gendry smiles and shakes his head. "I'm coming, little Cat. I'm coming."

* * *

The first few minutes of the drive are completely silent. She's done it. She's convinced Joffrey to give her a shot at racing. There's no way he'll reject her now- not after having that conversation in front of so many people. Allowing _Cat of El Cajon _to race will probably bring in a lot of spectators, which means a lot of money for the betting pools.

But even though Arya has escaped Joffrey's wrath, she still can't relax. She's tense. Her hands are tightly gripping the steering wheel. Because even though Gendry has been silent for these past few minutes, she's just waiting for him to explode. For him to scream. To yell. To lecture-

"What the hell were you thinking, Arya? You could have gotten yourself killed!" And here it goes. Arya glances at Gendry. His eyes are intense, filled with anger and emotion. The roads are blessedly empty, and Arya stares at them as Gendry continues to yell at her. For once in her life, she stays silent and doesn't argue. _Let him say what he will_, Arya thinks_, he just saved my ass. He deserves to yell if he wants to. _"You can't just crash a fucking race on Lannister's circuit. I'm surprised Joffrey didn't try to chop your head off. Or what if you had crashed? No one would have even known it was you out there. What if Sandor had listened to Joffrey and beaten the shit out of you? What if you were lying dead in a ditch right now?" Gendry is breathing heavily, and Arya can't help but notice his strong chest as he gathers his breath. She bites her lip and looks away.

"You're being very melodramatic," she says softly.

"You're being an idiot."

"Takes one to know one." Arya switches lanes, speeding back towards central city. "Why did you defend me if I was being so stupid?"

"I was trying to help you. You know, help keep you from getting killed."

"I was doing fine on my own. Besides, if things had gotten really bad, I'm sure Sansa would have helped." _And put herself in danger at my expense._

"Maybe," Gendry says. "But you couldn't be sure of that. Joffrey is dangerous. He's a mean man, no, a mean boy with too much power."

"You really hate him."

"Not as much as some people, but yes, I do."

"Why?"

"It's complicated."

Arya doesn't push the issue. She understands that people want their privacy. And Gendry deserves his just as much as she deserves hers. "So are we friends again?" She asks.

"I didn't realize we were friends in the first place."

"Shut up, stupid. Of course we were."

"You're the nicest friend I've ever had."

"Shut up."

"Very sweet and gentle-"

"Shut up!"

"And feminine of course-"

"I said shut it!" Arya swerves the car quickly and then brakes so fast that Gendry, unprepared, jerks forward and bumps his head on the dash.

"Oi! Seriously?" Gendry turns to Arya, blue eyes wild and furious. "If I keep hanging around you, I'm bound to get myself killed.

Arya shrugs her shoulders, but a smile tugs at her lips. "Not my problem."

* * *

"Good girl," Arya says as she scratches Nymeria behind the ear. Nymeria is wolfing down a gigantic bowl of food. Usually, Arya feeds her earlier in the night, but now it's almost two in the morning, and Nymeria is obviously starving.

"Good god. How much does that thing eat?" Gendry asks. He's lounging on Arya's bed, long, muscled arms tucked behind his head. His shirt is riding up, and Arya can see a spot of hard, tanned skin. She quickly looks back towards Nymeria. It seems like every other time she looks at Gendry, her logical mind goes out the window.

Arya was never boy crazy. That was always Sansa's job. Sure, she had a few guys she messed around with in high school, but she always got rid of them before it turned into something serious. She didn't like the idea of some stupid, inexperienced high school boy getting her naked. It was just never appealing.

_But Gendry's no high school boy, and I'll bet anything that he's very experienced_. After all, a grown man doesn't walk around with that body without having loose girls fling themselves at him.

Arya shakes her head, trying to get rid of these thoughts. Gendry is her mechanic and her friend. That's it. "That thing is my dog, and her name is Nymeria," Arya says. "And she gets to eat as much as she likes. She's a growing girl."

"If she grows anymore, she's going to be larger than Sandor."

"Good. Maybe she can rip him a few new scars."

"That's not very nice. Sandor stuck up for you tonight."

Arya turns around and walks towards the bed. She sits on the very edge of the mattress. "No. Sandor stuck up for himself. He was obviously sick of Joffrey bossing him around, so he just used me as an excuse to say 'fuck you' to his boss."

"Look, I'm not saying Sandor is a cute, fuzzy bunny, but no one knows much about the guy except that he's one devil of a racer. Leave Nymeria for Joffrey."

"Cute, fuzzy bunny?"

"Shut up."

Gendry sits up and scoots forward so that he's sitting right next to Arya. She's hyperaware of every move he makes. Of the warmth radiating from his body. "So do you think Joffrey will call?"

"I know he will."

"What makes you say that?"

"He can't live down a challenge. I've put my name out there, and everyone knows it. He has to put me in a race or people will call him a coward."

"He is a coward."

"He's worse than a coward. He's a power hungry fool." Arya sighs. "Let's stop talking about him. It's been a long day, and I don't need to end it with Joffrey on my mind." She rolls back her shoulders, and her back cracks. "Ugh. Too much driving lately."

"Here," Gendry says. He moves forward a bit more so that he can place his warm hands on her small shoulders. Arya's face flushes, and she wonders if Gendry can feel her racing heart. "Lean back a little," he says, his mouth close to her ear. Arya fights back a shiver, but she does as she's told and leans into Gendry's hard body.

"Where's it hurt?"

"Everywhere."

Slowly, Gendry makes his way down Arya's entire back. His large, strong hands massage her neck, rubbing circles just below her jaw. When he makes his way to her lower back, his thumbs press against bare skin, and Arya has to bite back a low moan. It feels unbelievably good to have his hands on her. She's too nervous to talk because she doesn't want him to stop. Ever.

Her entire body slowly relaxes, and she leans back even more so that she's cradled into Gendry's chest. His warm hands are now moving their way down her arms, working out every sore muscle. Arya's eyes start to flutter close, and in the dark, she imagines that Gendry's hands are everywhere. The stress of the day, the warmth of his body consumes her, and Arya falls asleep.

* * *

Arya wakes up to her blaring ringtone. "Stupid, fucking custom iPhone ringtone," she mumbles. She really isn't a morning person.

Arya opens her eyes and rubs the sleep out of them. Sighing, she sits up and looks for her phone. That's when she notices that there's a man sleeping in her bed. Gendry.

"Hey!" Arya punches him lightly in the shoulder. When he doesn't wake up, she punches him hard in the shoulder. "Wake up!"

"Ow! What?" Disoriented, Gendry slowly sits up and looks around the room. His gaze lands on Arya. "What'd you hit me for?"

"Who said you could sleep in my bed?" The phone has finally stopped ringing. It must have gone to voicemail.

"No one. I just fell asleep."

"You just _fell asleep_?"

Gendry pushes a hand through his messy hair. "Well, yeah."

"Get out of my bed."

"Hey, what's the big deal?"

There is no big deal. Arya is completely overreacting, and she knows it. Yet, she can't seem to relax. Last night. Everything with Gendry was too close for comfort. She can't have him sleeping in her bed. It'll make things complicated, and her life is complicated enough without him.

She takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I'm not a morning person. But for the future, you cannot just sleep in my bed. This is my bed. You have your own bed."

"All right, all right." Gendry stands up and as the sheets slide off of him, Arya notices that he's shirtless. Her mouth dries. She can't believe she was sleeping next to that bare, very sculpted body last night without realizing it.

Her eyes widen. "Where the hell is your shirt?"

Gendry shrugs. "I guess I took it off when I was sleeping. It's kind of warm in here."

_Yes it is. _"Get your shirt and go home, Gendry."

"My cars still at the track. You drove me here, remember?"

"Well why-" Arya is about to start yelling at him again, but she realizes she sounds like a total bitch. "Right. Of course, you're right. Look, grab your shirt and go outside. I'll meet you at my car in a couple minutes, and I'll drive you back to the track."

Gendry shakes his head and smirks. "You _really _aren't a morning person."

"Another reason not to sleep in my bed uninvited."

"What about if I _am_ invited?"

Arya's face flushes. She opens her mouth, but no words come out. She spies Gendry's shirt on the bed, so she grabs it, balls it up, and throws it to him. "Go outside. Wait at the car. Okay?"

Another smirk. "Okay."

**A/N ****– Sorry it took me so long to update. I made the chapter all Arya / Gendry to make up for it. I hope you enjoyed!**

**Thank you so so much for all of the reviews / alerts/ favorites. It always makes me smile when someone appreciates my story.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N – ****I hit 100 reviews with the last chapter! Thank you guys so so so so so much!**

Arya takes a deep breath. _Get it together_, she thinks. _Don't let Gendry distract you just because he looks nice without a shirt on. _Arya brushes a few strands of hair out of her face. _Okay, really nice. Like unbelievably gorgeous. _Her hotel room is a mess. Nymeria is sleeping on a pile of dirty clothing. There's leftover Chinese food sitting on the nightstand. Her bags are still only half unpacked.

For a moment, Arya can almost hear her mother's nagging voice. _"Arya Stark, this place is a complete disaster. Is that spoiled food on the counter? You're going to get bugs! And if you get bugs, who do you think is going to pay for the fumigation?" _ Arya tries to ignore the imaginary voice. _Mom's not here_, she thinks_, I'm on my own, and that's what I wanted. Right?_

Right. Arya starts pulling apart her room, throwing clothes over her shoulder and tossing the sheets from her bed, until she finds her cell phone. It reads **1 voicemail. **Arya presses listen and puts the phone to her ear:

_It's Jon. Meet me at the South end of Cajon Cross at noon. We need to talk. _

Jon's voice is terse, harsh even. Arya bites her lip. Growing up, Jon was always her hero, her idol. She hates the thought that he's mad at her. But it was inevitable. Arya glances at the time on her phone- it's already eleven. That means she has to take Gendry to his car and then meet Jon right after.

Nymeria is wide-awake now. She's sitting in the corner looking expectantly at Arya. "Sorry I've been so busy," Arya says guiltily. "You want to come with me to meet Jon?" _And be my bodyguard if he decides to tie me up and take away my car keys so that I'll never race again?_

Nymeria barks and stands up, wagging her bushy tail. "Okay, come on then."

* * *

"I can't believe you brought your dog," Gendry says, his voice muffled by Nymeria's thick fur.

Arya grins and glances to the side where Nymeria has decided to plant herself right in Gendry's lap. "You should be happy. She _likes _you now."

"If liking me means she's going to suffocate me, I'd rather not have it." Arya notices that despite complaining, Gendry still scratches Nymeria behind her ear. Nymeria nuzzles into the scratch, cocking her head to the side.

"I've been leaving her alone too often. I thought I'd let her come along for the ride."

"She's a dog, not a child. It's okay to leave her alone."

"How about I leave you alone on the side of the street?" Arya asks as she takes a sharp right turn.

"Fine. I'll try my best to get used to her. Right, Nymeria?"

Nymeria rotates in Gendry's lap so that she can give him a big, wet kiss on his face. Arya laughs. "Good girl."

"Very funny," Gendry says as he wipes the slobber off with his arm.

Arya bites her lip to stop her laughter. "Nymeria, back here." Arya whistles and pats the back seat. Nymeria jumps off of Gendry and settles down in the back. "Better?" Arya asks.

"Much. Thank you."

"So," Arya says as she pulls up to a red light. "Do you know where Cajon Cross is?"

"The street?"

"No. The theme park." Arya rolls her eyes. "Yes, of course the street."

"It's about seven miles south on Cajon Boulevard at the intersection. Why?"

"No reason." Arya bites the edge of her thumbnail.

"No reason at all? Because Cajon Cross is a pretty popular road to practice on."

"Huh. Is it?" Arya can't look at Gendry. He probably already knows that she's lying, and looking at him would make it even more obvious. "I just heard there was a good dry cleaners over there."

"There's nothing over there. Empty road." Gendry turns and looks Arya up and down with skeptical eyes. "Besides, what would you need to get dry cleaned? Your cotton tank top?"

Arya blushes as Gendry's gaze sweeps over her, even though it's only to inspect her clothing. "Never mind," she mutters.

"But really, Arya, what are you planning on doing over there? If you're going to practice, I want to come with you."

Arya turns to Gendry and narrows her eyes. "Why would you want to do that?"

"You could get hurt. There's no cell reception that far out. Who's going to save you this time?"

Arya snorts. "I'm not going to get hurt. Not that I'm actually racing," she hurriedly says. "But if I was going to race, I wouldn't get hurt. I practice on my own all the time. I'm not _stupid_."

"But these are unfamiliar roads, and you don't-"

"Gendry. Drop it, or I'll call Nymeria back to the front seat. And not all of her kisses are so sweet."

Gendry crosses his arms and stares Arya down. "I don't like it when you go all incognito on me."

"I don't really care what you like." _That's a flat out lie_, Arya says to herself. She thinks way too much about Gendry. The thought that he wants to _protect _her is infuriating and yet flattering at the same time. But he can't know what she's really up to. He has no idea that Jon is her brother, and if she tells him why she's going to Cajon Crossing, it will just lead to more questions and more answers she doesn't want to give.

Arya turns another corner, and the parking lot of the circuit appears. "Look we're here. Get in your car and just forget about what I said. I'm sure I'll see you later, all right?"

Gendry is staring at her as she pulls into the lot. "You're going to get yourself into trouble again, aren't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

* * *

Jon is sitting on the hood of his car when Arya pulls into the empty intersection of Cajon Cross. He's wearing dark wash jeans and a tight black t-shirt. The scruff on his face looks even thicker than before. His eyes are dark and calculated as he watches Arya get out of her car.

"Come on," Arya whistles, and Nymeria jumps out of the car and starts padding softly across the asphalt.

"You're late," Jon says as Arya approaches.

"I had to run an errand first." Arya scans Jon's face, searching for any hint of emotion. Is he angry? Forgiving? Furious? "And I'm only a minute late."

Jon jumps off the hood of his car and strides forward so that he's towering above Arya. He's not the giant of Arya's youth, but he still stands half a foot taller than her. Arya has to look up to meet his dark eyes. "You didn't listen to me," Jon says. "You raced even though I specifically told you not to."

"What did you expect, Jon? Did you think I would run home with my tail between my legs?" Arya kicks at a pebble on the ground. She's definitely in trouble. "You know why I came to San Diego."

"To get yourself killed obviously."

Arya rolls her eyes. Jon sounds exactly like Gendry. Overprotective and stubborn. When are they going to realize that she's not a little girl? "I've managed to keep breathing so far, so I guess I'm doing something right."

"You're doing nothing right. How could you possibly think that crashing a race would be a good idea? You saw Joffrey! He looked just about ready to bite your little head off, and you better be fucking grateful that the Hound wasn't in the mood to play games, or he really _would_ have bitten you a new one. And what if Joffrey finds out who you really are? Sure, maybe he let Cat of El Cajon get away with the stunt you pulled, but he sure as hell wouldn't let Arya Stark get away with it!"

Arya crosses her arms. "Are you done yelling yet? And hey, why doesn't Joffrey recognize you when _you _race?"

"It's been six years since that little shit has seen me with our family. I've grown a foot, grown my hair, and grown a beard. There's nothing to recognize." Jon laughs bitterly. "I haven't been in the family Christmas card since 2005."

"I guess that's true." Every time Arya thinks of Jon leaving home, her stomach churns with bile. She's never truly forgiven her mother for what she did to Jon. It wasn't his fault that Bran got hurt. Arya looks up at Jon, and she knows that he's thinking of Bran and mom too. "I won't get hurt like he did," Arya says softly. "I can take care of myself. And if something _does _happen, it won't be your fault. You have to know that."

"I introduced you to racing. Of course it will be my fault."

"That's bullshit. Robb races too, and dad used to race for fun before he hurt his back."

"Yeah. Hurt his back." Jon grins bitterly and shakes his head.

"What?"

"Nothing." Jon sighs. "Never mind. Look, I didn't ask you here so we could spend the day arguing."

"Than why are we arguing and why am I here?"

"If you're going to insist on racing, which seems to be the case, than I'm going to make sure you know what the hell you're doing out there."

Suddenly a weight seems to lift from Arya's chest. Jon is going to help her. He's not only going to talk to her, but he's also going to help her race. Without warning, Arya leaps forward and wraps her arms tightly around Jon, tucking her head into his chest. Nymeria whines and follows Arya's actions by leaping on Jon and giving him a wet kiss. Jon laughs, deep and rumbling as he hugs the two back.

"Thank you, thank you," Arya says when she steps back. She knew Jon was always her favorite for a reason. Beneath all the surly attitude, he's the best brother anyone could ask for.

"Just don't make me regret this, all right? You have to promise to listen to everything I say. I don't want any attitude from you."

"I promise," Arya says hurriedly. "Come on. Let's get started."

"I'm serious Arya. You have to listen to everything I say. I want to teach you a new move that I've been working on, but it's really difficult, and if you mess up even a little bit-"

"I'll end up paralyzed in a pit a of smoke and debris. Yeah. I know." Arya grins, and after a second's hesitation, Jon smiles back at her. "Come on then hotshot, show me what you've got."

"All right. Wait here, and I'll show you the move first. Then we can start practicing."

Arya whistles for Nymeria and they walk to the edge of the road, sitting down on the hot pavement. Jon walks back towards his car and starts the engine. After backing up, he zooms down the road and out of sight.

Arya waits impatiently. She scratches Nymeria behind the ear but keeps her eyes trained on the road. "Come on, come on," she whispers. When she was younger, Jon always wanted to show her some new trick he learned. And they were always impressive. She can't wait to see this new one.

Finally his car appears on the horizon. Arya stands up and watches as he speeds down the road. Eventually, he starts hugging the right side of the street, driving dangerously close to its edge. And then, all of a sudden, he pops his car up. Not the front two tires in a standard wheelie, but he balances his car on the front and back left wheels so that he's almost driving vertically, half his car lifted off of the ground.

Arya stands and watches, her mouth wide open. "How the fuck..." she mumbles. Eventually Jon settles his car back to the ground and whips around, driving towards Arya. He stops the car short and smoke billows behind him.

When he rolls down the window, he's smiling like an idiot. "Nice trick, huh?" He asks.

"Can my car even do that?"

"All the right gears and bolts are already installed. I did it years ago, but I never mastered the trick until a month ago."

"Jesus," Arya says, brushing the hair out of her face. "That's going to be really useful on this circuit. With them racing five cars at a time, you could just slide right by."

Jon grins. "I know. Maybe I_ shouldn't_ teach you how to do it. I'd like to keep the advantage to myself." He sighs. "But I figure I'll beat your either way."

Arya raises her eyebrows. "I seem to remember beating you last night."

"Because you cheated."

"I didn't cheat."

"That's very debatable."

"So," Arya says, smiling. "My turn?"

* * *

"You're not pulling enough," Jon says for the thirtieth time.

"Yes, I am," Arya says through gritted teeth. She's been practicing for two hours now, which means Jon has been yelling at her from the passenger's seat for two hours.

"No you're not," Jon repeats. "If you were doing it right, you'd be in the air. We've been on the ground for hours now."

Arya leans over and punches Jon in the arm. "Just shut up, all right? You've had years to practice this. I'm trying to learn it in a day."

Jon laughs as he rubs his arm. "I see your temper hasn't changed much. How about we call it a break for today? I can meet with you tomorrow, and we can practice some more."

"Fine," Arya says.

"I don't want you practicing this on your own."

"Fine."

"I mean it. If you get hurt, no one will be here."

"Fine."

"I'm serious, Arya."

"Okay."

Arya parks the car and Jon and her both get out. Nymeria is sitting on the side of the road, panting in the hot sun. "I should get her home anyways," Arya says. "It's too hot in San Diego."

"Better than the cold," Jon says. "I hate the cold." Jon starts walking back towards his car, but before he gets there, he turns around and smiles at Arya. "I'll see you tomorrow, little sister."

"See you."

* * *

Okay, so maybe she lied. Just a little bit. As soon as Arya dropped Nymeria off at the motel, she scarfed down some food and headed straight back to Cajon Cross. By the time she gets back, she still has a few hours of sunlight to learn the trick, and she's determined to have it mastered by then.

She reaches over to her middle compartment, opens it, and pulls out her racing gloves. The supple leather makes her feel confident, in control. "Okay," she says, gripping the wheel. "Let's do this."

Hours pass by as she practices. Each time she is closer than the last, but she still can't seem to keep both wheels off of the ground for longer than a couple of seconds. And that's just not enough time to pass someone on the road.

The sun started to set half an hour ago, and the sky has turned a dusky purple. Arya flips on her headlights. She should probably head home soon. Her leg is cramping from hours of driving, and her hands feel rigid from continuously pulling the gears.

_One more try_, she tells herself_, last time. I know I'll get it. Just one more time. _Arya sets her jaw and pulls her car into drive. The engine hums beneath her. She massages the kinks out of her thigh and takes a deep, steadying breath. _I can do this_, she thinks, more determined then ever.

She slowly starts to accelerate down the road, building more and more speed as the seconds pass. Once she's clocking 90 mph, she yanks her gear, pulls the switch, and spins her wheel. And there it goes. The car starts lifting, first the front wheel and then the back one. Arya grins as the entire right side of her car hovers above the ground.

She spins the wheel further so that the angle is even harsher, letting her car take up half its usual space on the road. "Five seconds," she says. "Hold it for five seconds." Her car zooms down the road as she whispers. "Five, four, three, two...FUCK!"

Suddenly her leg spasms and she loses control of the wheel. The car rotates out, bangs to the ground, and heads straight for a ditch. Arya tries to regain control, but there's not enough time. Her car speeds forward, quickly approaching a tree. "Too fast, too fast," Arya mutters, her pulse racing. But as hard as she tries, she can't slow the car down, and the tree is approaching, and her car is topping 100 mph, and the tree is right there, and...

* * *

When Arya wakes up, her head is pounding. She lifts a hand to her forehead, and it comes away sticky and wet. Slowly she pries open her eyes only to see blood and broken glass. Arya grimaces. Her entire body feels stiff. She must have been knocked out for a while, and of course, no one has seen her on this deserted road.

Groaning, Arya manages to open her car door and roll outside. The night sky is black and dotted with thousands of stars. For a moment, Arya just lies there on the dirt ground, letting the tepid breeze wash over her. Her eyes start to close again, but she forces them open. "No more sleeping," she mutters, wondering if she has a concussion.

After testing her movements, Arya slowly stands up. Nothing seems to be broken. Except for her car. The entire front side is completely caved in. A hysterical panic rises up in Arya. _Not my car_, she thinks_, oh god, not my car. _She can't race without her car. She can't make money without her car. She can't do anything. She'll be useless. A failure.

_Gendry._

_Yes. Of course, Gendry. He'll fix it. He has to_, Arya thinks. Ignoring the pains in her body, she gets back inside of her car and tries to start the engine. It stalls three times before it hums to life. Hopefully it'll make it to his shop.

As Arya pulls the car into reverse, she glances in her rearview mirror and sees red. "Fuck," she says. There's a giant gash on her forehead that's still bleeding. It doesn't hurt though. Maybe it's the adrenaline. Or the stress of her broken car. Arya bites her lip for a second before yanking off her tank top and tying it tightly around the cut on her head. It'll have to do for now.

**A/N ****– There was going to be another Arya / Gendry scene in here, but the chapter started to get too long. Sorry guys, you'll have to wait until next chapter to see how Gendry reacts to Arya's accident.**

**But I promise it will be worth the wait.**

**Thank you for all the reviews / alerts/ favorites! You guys are the best : ) **

**Guest Review: **

**Question: Arya tells Gendry that Sansa or Jon would have saved her if he hadn't stepped in...so does Gendry know that Jon and Arya are related?**

**Answer: Nope! That was totally a mistake. I went back to the last chapter and fixed it. Thanks for catching it!**


	9. Chapter 9

The car shudders as Arya makes her way back down Cajon Boulevard. "Come on, come on," she whispers. "Don't break down on me now." It was too dark outside to assess the damage, but considering how far the hood was bent in, it's amazing that the car is running at all.

Arya licks her lips and wipes a hand across her damp forehead. It comes away sticky with dark blood. But she still can't feel the pain. She feels lightheaded and anxious- but there's no pain. The sign for Gendry's shop appears in the distance, and Arya puts more pressure on the gas pedal.

As she turns into the lot, she glances at the time. It's seven o'clock, and the lot is empty, but the garage door is open, and there's a light on. Arya pulls into the garage, her car rattling as she shifts it into park. _I've made it, _she thinks. _Gendry will fix my car, and everything will be all right. _

Arya spies Gendry through her cracked windshield. He's underneath a different car, but he slides back on his dolly as she shuts off her engine. Arya exhales. _Yes, Gendry will fix it. _She opens her car door and starts to stand up, but suddenly it feels as if all the blood has drained from her body. Vertigo washes over her, and she feels nauseous. She stumbles, tries to stand up, but instead rolls out of the car and lands hard on the concrete ground.

* * *

Her head is pounding, dull and heavy. She tries to open her eyes, but even the dim light makes her grimace in pain. She feels cold and weak. Her brain is fuzzy. She can't remember what happened or where she is.

Again, she opens her eyes but this time forces them to adjust to the light in the room. She's lying on an old, worn couch inside what looks to be someone's office. She slowly sits up, despite the sharp pain in her head and a stitch in her side. She has to take small, shallow breaths. _What happened_, she thinks.

She shivers and goes to tug her jacket more tightly around her body. It's only then that she realizes she's not wearing her own clothing. She looks down at the shirt. It's much too large for her, dark grey, and buttoned all the way to the bottom. Her pants have been stripped off, but the shirt is so large that it reaches to her mid-thigh. Arya narrows her eyes. There's a tag on the shirt, with a name stitched with white thread: _Gendry_.

And then it all comes rushing back to her in quick, sharp flashes. Racing down Cajon Cross. Crashing into the tree. Blood. Crawling out of the car. Blood. Blood. Driving to Gendry's shop. Opening the door...and then...

She must have passed out. Which means Gendry must have taken her to his office. And made sure she was all right. And stripped off her bloody clothing. Her cheeks flame with embarrassment. The thought of him looking at her unconscious body makes her shiver.

If he thinks he's going to get away with taking her clothes off than he really is an idiot. Slowly, Arya swings her legs over the side of the couch. Even that slight movement hurts, but she's intent on finding Gendry and giving him a piece of her mind. But just as she's figuring out how to stand up, the knob to the office turns, and Gendry walks in.

His surprised blue eyes catch hers. He's wearing jeans and a white tank top. There are splotches of dried blood on his clothing. "I didn't think you'd be awake yet," Gendry says. He's still standing in the doorway.

"Just thought you'd have another look at the unconscious, naked girl?"

"You're not naked."

"I'm more naked than when I got here."

Gendry narrows his eyes. "You weren't wearing a shirt when you got here." He takes a few steps forward, hesitates, and then walks all the way up to Arya. His blue eyes look worried. He crouches down so that their heads are at the same level. "Do you remember what happened, Arya?"

"Yes." She pauses. "Mostly. What do you mean I wasn't wearing a shirt?" But even as she asks the question, she remembers a glimpse of stripping off her shirt and tying it around her head. Her hand goes up to her head, but she's scared to touch anything. "How bad is it?" She asks.

Gendry looks down at the ground. His hands are clutching a greased rag, and he turns it in his fingers. "I thought you were two steps from dead when you pulled in here. I looked up and saw your bashed up car, and then your door opened and you crumpled into a pile of blood. I thought-" Gendry looks up. He grabs Arya's hand and runs a thumb against the warm skin. "I wasn't sure if you'd make it. What were you thinking driving yourself here?"

Arya's first instinct is to pull her hand away, but the touch of his skin against her own is oddly comforting. "I guess I wasn't _really_ thinking. I saw my car- saw how much damage there was, and I decided that it needed to get fixed right away."

Gendry laughs short and sharp. "Oh god, Arya Stark. Risking her life for a hunk of metal. I can't say I'm surprised really." He takes his hand away, and Arya feels cold without the contact. "How do you feel?"

"Fine. Sore. A little woozy. Pounding headache. My side hurts. Mouth is dry."

Gendry laughs again. "But besides that, you're totally fine, right?"

Arya manages a grin. "Right."

"Well I bandaged your head. You lost a lot of blood, but once I cleaned everything out, the cut was surprisingly shallow. I don't think you'll need stitches."

"I didn't know you had such an aptitude for nursing. Maybe you should give up cars, buy some scrubs, and start giving sponge baths."

"Doesn't sound like much fun."

"Depends who you're giving the bath to." Arya pauses and then blushes. _Why the hell did I say that?_ "I want to see my car."

Gendry hesitates. "Maybe you should rest a bit more. You were only out for an hour, and-"

"I want to see my car."

"But, if you-"

"Gendry. I know it's bad, but I need to see it, all right?"

"Fine. All right." Gendry stands up. "Do you need help?"

"I've got it," Arya says, though she isn't sure if she does. Bracing herself, she grabs the end of the couch and slowly tries to stand up. "Fuck," she says, breathing deeply, her chest tight.

Gendry rolls her eyes before grabbing Arya and lifting her up bridal style. His strong arms easily hold her weight. "Hey, I said I've got it!" Arya says, struggling to get out of his arms.

"And I'm sure you do, but I don't feel like waiting around for another hour while you make it into the other room. I'm a very impatient man."

"I've noticed." Realizing there's no point in arguing, Arya relents and lets Gendry carry her. He has one arm around her back and the other splayed under her bare legs. She flushes at the touch, surprised at her slight arousal. Her eyes flash to Gendry's, and the way he looks at her tells her he's probably thinking the same thing.

"I still can't believe you took my clothes off," Arya mumbles as they make their way into the garage.

"Well I wasn't going to let you lie around in bloody clothes."

"My pants weren't bloody."

Gendry snorts. "Everything was bloody." He adjusts his hand, placing it further up her bare thigh. Arya bites her lip. She wants him. Despite him being stubborn, rude, and overprotective, she still wants him. And the look in his eyes makes her wonder if he wants her too. "Now," Gendry says, "Why don't your either shut up or say thank you for saving your life?"

"You didn't save my life."

"Yes, because if I left you lying in that pile of blood, I'm sure you'd be perfectly fine right now."

"If I were perfectly fine, I wouldn't have to be carried by you."

"You wouldn't have to be carried by me if you hadn't gone and gotten yourself in a fucking car wreck." Gendry puts Arya down on the workbench a bit too harshly, and the pain in her side sharpens. His blue eyes flash angrily. "Seriously, Arya, what the hell were you doing out there? I told you it wasn't safe to race alone, and then you go and do it anyways." Gendry starts pacing back and forth in front of the bench. "What would have happened if you were knocked out cold? What if you couldn't have driven over here?"

_Here he goes again_, Arya thinks_, and I have a feeling he isn't going to stop this time. _She grabs the bench and uses it to steady herself as she stands up. Gendry is so busy yelling that he doesn't notice as she approaches him. "There's no cell reception out at Cajon Cross. You could have been lying dead in a ditch. Fuck, who knows, wolves could have gotten to you. Or worse. Not everyone is nice Arya, what if someone else found you? Or what if you broke your legs or-"

Arya takes another step forward so that she's right in front of Gendry. She grabs him by both his arms and turns him towards her. "Gendry. Calm the fuck down," she says slowly. She pulls him closer. He's breathing heavily, his hard chest rising in and out. His blue eyes look wild. "I'm fine. I was stupid, but now I'm fine. Look-" She grabs one of his hands and presses it to her chest, right above her heart. "You feel that? My heart is still beating. I'm fine."

Gendry looks down at her, and her heart starts beating even faster. He takes another step forward, and for once in her life, Arya doesn't back away. His hand clutches Arya's shirt, pulling her closer. "You're fine," he repeats, his voice low and rough.

"Yes."

They stand there for a moment, both breathing heavily, eyes locked, hands clutched. And then something flickers in Gendry's eyes, and he leans forward and kisses her.

She knew it was coming. When she grabbed his hand, she knew it was coming. When she stood up from the bench, she knew it was coming. But the feeling of his lips against hers still manages to take her completely by surprise.

His lips are soft, warm, and his kiss is long and deep. Arya shivers, shocked at how arousing a simple kiss can be. She presses herself closer to his hard body as his hands tentatively wrap around her small back. She kisses him, breathing him in, overwhelmed by everything flooding through her.

He kisses her once more on the lips before moving away, tracing his lips across every inch of her, brushing kisses against her jaw, her ear, the side of her neck. Arya leans into the touch, clutching Gendry tightly. She's never been touched like this. She can feel the desire pulsing through both of them. And all she can think about is how she wants more.

She grabs Gendry by the back his neck and drags his lips back to her own. She kisses him hungrily, slipping her tongue into his warm mouth and gasping as soon as it touches his own. "Arya," he breathes, shuddering, as she attacks his mouth again and again. His hands skim down her back, brushing over her bottom and tracing her bare legs.

They take a step back, moving towards the workbench, lips never separating. Arya's body is on fire, and she grabs Gendry's shoulders, intending to push him onto the bench, but then her step falters, and suddenly she feels incredibly dizzy.

She tries to take a deep breath, but she falters again.

Gendry immediately notices that something is wrong. He takes Arya's arms and helps lower her to the bench, sitting her down gently. Arya's head is pounding again. Too much movement. Too fast.

She looks up. Gendry has taken a step back. He's breathing heavily, dark blue eyes filled with mixed emotions. "I shouldn't have done that," he says.

"Yeah?" Arya's chest is tight as she gathers her breath. "Why not?"

"God, I'm a fucking idiot."

"Well, we already knew that."

"I'm serious, Arya." He takes a step forward. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I just need to rest, that's all." _Obviously, I got myself a little too worked up. _Even now, she can't keep her eyes off of Gendry. She wants to kiss him again. Wants to strip off his shirt. She wants so many things, but she knows her body isn't up to it right now.

"I can't believe I did that." Gendry runs a hand through his already messed-up hair. "You get in a car accident, pass out, and the first thing I do when you wake up is fucking attack you."

Arya smirks. "Attack me?"

"Well, you know-"

"Gendry Waters, are you blushing?"

"Shut up." Gendry takes a breath and shakes his head. "Really, Arya, are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"I don't want you passing out on me."

"Why not? I'll probably wake up with even less clothes on."

Gendry starts blushing again, and Arya grins. "Joke," she says. "Kind of. Actually, could I please get some pants?"

Gendry's eyes skim over her bare legs, and the single look fills Arya with arousal all over again. _God dammit_, she thinks_, this is obviously just a day of terrible decisions. I told myself I wouldn't get involved with him. I can't. _But it's hard to tell herself that when Gendry keeps looking at her with that intense stare.

"How about I just take you home?" Gendry says. "That way you'll have you own clothes and you own bed, and we can...sort everything out tomorrow."

"Yeah. Sure. That's probably a good idea."

"Come on then. I'm assuming I can pick you up this time without you freaking out?"

Arya doesn't say anything, and she still squeaks a little when Gendry picks her up. It's just an odd feeling to be swooped up like a sack of flour. She feels almost weightless in his arms. She catches his eyes but then immediately looks away. It's probably best not to look at him when his warm hands are placed against her bare skin. She licks her bottom lip. Definitely not a good idea.

Gendry starts walking, but after a few steps, Arya says, "Stop."

"What?"

"I never saw my car."

Gendry curses under his breath. "I thought you'd forgotten about that."

"What, thought you'd just kiss me into distraction?"

"Well it worked for a while, didn't it?"

Arya blushes. "Shut up."

"Really, Arya. Let's just wait until tomorrow."

"No."

Gendry sighs. "Fine. But just promise me that you won't freak out. It's not as bad as it looks. I can fix it. Okay?"

Arya nods her head.

Gendry walks around to the other side of the garage, rounds the corner, and there it is. Arya's car. Except it doesn't look like Arya's car. It looks like a hunk of metal sitting in a junkyard. The front is completely smashed in. Arya's mouth feels dry, and she tries to swallow the lump in her throat. "You can fix that?" She asks.

"Yes." But he doesn't sound so sure, and despite herself, Arya feels a tear fall from her eye. What is she going to do without her car? Go home? Go to college? Any option means admitting failure and facing her parents. "Hey," Gendry says, "Look at me."

Arya draws her eyes to Gendry. "I'll fix it. I promise."

"But it's destroyed."

"I'm very good at my job."

"But-"

"Cat of El Cajon will be racing again by the end of the week. I promise."

"But-"

"I promise."

Arya isn't sure if she believes him, but his voice is strong, and his eyes are true. So she lets a last tear fall, gathers her breath, and says, "All right, Gendry. Take me home."

**A/N ****– So the chapter is a little shorter than usual, but I thought you guys wouldn't mind considering the content ; ) **

**I hope you enjoyed the first kiss, but there's still a lot of story to go. Next chapter will be a San x San for those of you who were wondering.**

**Thank you so much for all of the reviews- I really appreciate the long ones. It makes me feel great that you guys take the time to give me your honest opinions.**

**Question: Do you guys want most of this story to just be Arya x Gendry or do you like Arya's interactions with everyone else (Jon, Sansa, Joffrey, etc)?**

**Thanks for reading!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N ****– This is a San x San interlude. The timing of this chapter starts the same night that Arya got into her accident.**

It's dark outside. Sansa watches as Joffrey paces across the floor of his living room. She is sitting on the leather couch, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Sandor is standing by the window, staring out at the night sky as Joffrey continues to scream at him.

"I will not have you making a mockery of me in front of my own fucking circuit! Do you hear me, dog? Look at me!" Joffrey yells.

Slowly, Sandor turns around. He towers over Joffrey, and his shoulders are almost twice as wide. Coal black eyes stare Joffrey down, and Sandor's scarred lip breaks into a snarl. "A little louder, Joff. I didn't quite catch that last part."

Joffrey narrows his eyes. "I will not deal with your insubordination. I pay you to race for me. I pay you to fucking win for me. I pay you to protect me. I do not pay you to be a fucking incompetent, disobedient bastard! Now are you going to tuck your ragged tail between your legs and bow your fucking head, or am I going to have to fire you?"

"I dare you to fire me," Sandor growls. "Try showing up at the circuit without protection, and you'll find out just how loved you are."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a fact."

Sansa clasps her hands more tightly. It's not good for her when Joffrey gets mad, and Sandor is doing a very good job of pushing him over the edge. When Joffrey gets angry, he likes picking on the weak, on those smaller than him. And considering that the only person in the room besides Sansa is the hound, her chances aren't very good of escaping unharmed.

Unsure of what to do, she tentatively clears her throat. Joffrey whips around to look at her, eyes wild. "What is it?" He snaps.

"I've just remembered that I need to go home. There are some documents that I need to sign, and-"

Joffrey walks forward so that he's standing in front of Sansa. "Getting behind on your work, are you? I wouldn't want you to have the same fate as your pathetic, fucking father. Baratheon Corporations needs a Stark at all times to keep the mindless masses happy."

"Of course. You're so right." Sansa grabs her small purse and stands up. She sidles to the side so that there's space between Joffrey and her. "I'll go home right now and finish my work."

Sansa starts to turn around but Joffrey grabs her by the arm. His grip is tight and forceful. He yanks her so that she's standing in front of him. "You're hurting me, Joffrey," Sansa says.

"Don't be so pathetic." Joffrey only tightens his grip. "I won't have you running out of here so quickly. Don't think Sandor is the only one in trouble."

Sandor is still standing by the window, but his eyes are hard and narrowed in on Joffrey's hand. He takes just the smallest step forward so that Joffrey won't notice. "I haven't done anything wrong," Sansa says.

"Really?"

"Yes, of course." Sansa bites her lip and widens her eyes, praying she looks innocent. "Have I done something to bother you?"

"The other night at the track- why did you try to hold me back when that fucking mystery racer appeared? You never interfere with the races. Why were you suddenly so interested in keeping me uninvolved?"

Sansa bows her eyes. "I didn't want you to get hurt, Joffrey."

"You thought a little girl could hurt me? How pathetic do you think I am?" Joffrey finally releases the grip on Sansa's arm and shoves her to the couch.

"I don't," Sansa whispers. "Of course I don't think that."

Joffrey steps forward and lowers his voice. "Than what the fuck were you trying to do? Protect the girl? Do you know who she is?"

Sansa's face pales. "Of course not."

"You're lying."

"I'm not." Her voice is unsteady, and Sansa prays Joffrey doesn't notice. _He can't know about Arya_, she thinks_, he can't know. He's just bluffing._ Sansa stands back up so that she's in front of Joffrey. She raises a hand and presses it against his cheek. "I love you, Joffrey. I would never lie to you."

Her heart is beating wildly. Joffrey narrows his eyes. "You're a stupid, lying, bitch," he spits out before smacking her across the face.

Sansa gasps and stumbles backwards. She raises a hand to the tender cheek, and tears prick at her eyes. Sandor is still standing silently behind Joffrey, but his jaw is clenched tightly, and his hand is hovering above the knife he keeps latched to his belt.

_Breathe_, Sansa tells herself_, ignore the pain. Make Joffrey believe you. For Arya. _She takes a steadying breath before stepping forward once more. Joffrey is staring at her with wild eyes. "I don't like it when you hurt me," Sansa says quietly. "It shows weakness. I was just trying to be honest, and-"

"Are you calling me weak?"

"That's not what I-"

"You think I'm weak? That I'm some stupid, little bastard that you have wound around your fucking finger?"

"That's not-"

"You will learn to respect me, Sansa. I am your fucking fiancé. You answer to me. You obey me."

The thought of obeying Joffrey for the rest of her life makes Sansa sick to her stomach. The thought of living under the rule of some over-privileged tyrant for year after year is horrifying. "Marriage is a communion of equals," Sansa says, "and I will not-"

And then Joffrey punches her. A sharp right hook to her cheekbone. The pain is instant and overwhelming. Sansa falls to the couch, her vision blurring. She can feel Joffrey approach, but she's too dizzy to keep her eyes open. "We are not equals, and you'd better learn that soon enough, or I'll beat the lesson into you." Sansa gasps in pain, in fear. She lifts a hand to her cheek and it feels wet with blood and tears.

"As for you hound-" Joffrey is further away now. "You'd better learn to respect me or get the fuck out of San Diego. Now clean that bitch up for me, and I'll see you both tomorrow."

As soon as Joffrey slams the door shut behind him, Sansa starts crying. Tears slide down her face, the salt burning the cut in her cheek. She tries to stay calm, but she knows her entire body is trembling. Joffrey has hit her before but never this hard. And what's to keep him from doing it again and again?

"Stop crying, would you?" Sandor says, his voice rough.

Sansa opens her eyes. The room is titled sideways, and her vertigo is making her nauseous. Sandor steps forward and crouches down. Even on his knees, he still towers above Sansa as she lies on the couch. He lifts a hand to her face, and Sansa automatically flinches away.

"I'm not going to hurt you," his says gruffly. "I'm just seeing how bad the damage is. One of Joffrey's rings must have cut you."

"All right," Sansa whispers. It's strange. She never imagined in her entire life that the hound would be nursing to her. His black eyes are dark and intent as his hand gently sweeps against her cheek. For some reason, up close, his scars don't look as menacing. Sansa can almost see the handsome, young man behind the burned face.

"Does this hurt?" He asks, as he gently prods the cut.

Sansa winces. "Yes."

Sandor's hand sweeps down the rest of her face, touching even the unbruised parts. Sansa blushes as his thumb just barely brushes against the side of her lip. She can't read his dark eyes, but she feels as if she's lain naked before him, and that he can hear her each and every thought. _Unsettling man_, she thinks. _Yet still much more comforting than Joffrey._

Finally, Sandor takes his hand away. He stands up and clears his throat. "The cut doesn't look too bad, but you're going to have a lot of swelling tomorrow."

"Would you mind," Sansa pauses. She's embarrassed to ask Sandor for help. "Is there any chance you could take me home? I'm afraid to drive. I'm feeling very dizzy."

"Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"No, definitely no." Sansa can just imagine that unfolding. The nurse asking her what happened, trying to lie, and then eventually breaking into tears and admitting that her fiancé abused her. "Just a ride home, please."

"Fine." Sandor steps forward and suddenly lifts Sansa from the couch. She feels tiny in his giant arms.

Her face flushes. "You don't have to carry me."

"I won't have you passing out on this hard floor."

"I suppose, thank you then." Sandor is right. Sansa is sure she wouldn't make it five steps without collapsing. Her head is still spinning. Everything feels safer with her head cradled against Sandor's hard chest.

"You left some blood on the couch," Sandor says. "Maybe we should clean it."

Sansa glances at the stain. It's barely visible against the dark leather. "No. Leave it." _Maybe one day, Joffrey will see it as a reminder and actually regret the monster he is._

* * *

That night Sansa dreams of a car bursting into flames. There's a driver inside. Sansa rushes towards the car and pries open the melting, scorched door. "Arya," she gasps, expecting to find her little sister inside. But instead, it's the hound who turns towards her, his face burned and charred. "Come to save me?" He asks, his grin twisted and terrifying. "Come to fly me away little bird?" "Where's my sister?" Sansa gasps. He grins again, flakes of skin flying into the wind. "You can't save everyone, little bird."

When Sansa wakes up, her entire body is slick with cold sweat. She wants to curl into a ball and go back to sleep, but her face feels stiff and tender, and she's far too curious to see what damage Joffrey has done.

Just the thought of his name makes her furious. He's always been abusive, but usually it was verbal abuse, and Sansa can take any spiteful word he throws at her. However, she can't defend herself from these physical assaults. Even if she were able to a get a few punches in, Joffrey would eventually overpower her, and she would turn out worse for the wear.

She makes her way to her vanity table and gasps when she sees her face. The entire left side is swollen, and there's a sharp cut down her cheek. She tentatively touches the swollen area and winces in pain. "Fuck," she whispers. She's supposed to be at a meeting at 10 o'clock, but there's no way she can go into the office looking like this.

Sansa grabs her foundation and starts applying it thickly over the bruised skin, but it doesn't help much. There's no way to hide the swelling or the cut. Frustrated, Sansa throws her foundation onto the dresser where it clangs against the wood. She'll have to miss work, which will make Joffrey even more furious.

The thought of packing up of all her things and simply driving back to Montana is incredibly tempting. She's considered it before, but then she remembers why she's stuck with Joffrey in the first place. If she leaves him, he will sue her father and ruin the prospects of her entire family. No. She has to stay. She has to be strong.

She grabs her cell phone and calls the office. The secretary immediately picks up. "Melissa, this is Sansa. I won't be able to come into today. I'm not feeling well." She hangs up before Melissa can respond. That way there's no need to answer questions with more lies.

Sansa places her cell phone back on the table and heads to the bathroom. If she's going to take the day off of work, she might as well enjoy it by lounging in the bath for a while. Just as she's turning the knobs on the tub, there's a knock on the door.

Her stomach automatically clenches in fear. _Joffrey_, she thinks_, he's come over to make sure I've learned my lesson. _Her heart starts racing. _Maybe I'll just go back to bed. I'm sleeping. I'm still sleeping, and I didn't hear the door._

Someone knocks again. This time louder. And then a voice speaks up, "I know you're in there! I see the light on!"

_Arya. It's not Joffrey, it's Arya!_ Sansa sighs in relief. She rushes towards the door and pulls it open. Arya is standing there in jean shorts and a black tank top. There's a large bandage on her forehead and bruises on her arms.

"What happened?" Sansa gasps, immediately forgetting about Joffrey.

Arya laughs. "What happened to me? What about what happened to you?" Arya walks through the door, right past Sansa. "That's a nice shiner you've got there, sister."

Sansa's hand goes up to her cheek. She wishes she had tried putting on more foundation. What is she going to tell Arya? That Joffrey hit her? Or should she lie? "Thanks, same to you. What happened?"

Arya shrugs her shoulders. "Crashed the car. Pretty stupid of me, to be honest." She's pacing around Sansa's apartment, picking things up and putting them back down. "This is a nice place. How do you afford it?"

"Baratheon Corporations pays me to smile prettily."

"Right. So who'd you get in a fight with? I never imagined Sansa Stark in a fist fight."

"It's not important."

Arya steps forward and catches Sansa's eye. "He hit you didn't he?" Her voice is dripping with distaste.

"It's not important," Sansa repeats.

"I won't let him hit you."

"Really? What are you going to do about it? Fight him back? You may be strong, Arya, but you're tiny."

"And he's a tiny little piece of shit, and I'm not going to let him beat up on my sister!" Arya grabs Sansa's hand and squeezes it tightly. "I understand that you're trying to sacrifice yourself for the family, Sansa, but don't be stupid. Do you think mom or dad or Bran or Robb would want you to get yourself beat up over it?"

"Of course not, but-"

"But what?" Arya crosses her arms.

"But it's for the good of everyone, and besides, this is the first time Joffrey has hit me this hard. He was mad at Sandor, and he took it out on me." _Best not to mention that he was mad because a new racer showed up_. Sansa doesn't want Arya blaming herself.

"And you think he won't do it again?"

Sansa sighs. "I'm not sure."

"I don't want you seeing him alone anymore."

"How are you going to manage that?"

Arya throws her hands up in frustration. "This is insane. I'm not going to let you be Joffrey's chew toy. Look, I came over here this morning because he called about half an hour ago. He wants me in the race this Friday. I'm going to continue to race anonymously, but I don't want you getting hurt if for some reason my real identity comes out. I think you should get out of town for awhile."

"I can't do that, and you know it."

"Well then maybe I shouldn't race," Arya says, but Sansa knows it would absolutely kill her sister to stop racing.

"No. You came here to race, and you're racing."

"Well than what are we supposed to do?"

"I don't know."

"Maybe," Arya is pacing now. "Maybe I have an idea. What if you agreed to at least learn how to defend yourself? That way if Joffrey gets rough again, you can do something about it."

Sansa narrows her eyes. "I've never been good at fighting or sports or any of that, Arya. That was always your territory."

"That's because you never practiced, and you never wanted to get your nails messed up."

"Well who's going to teach me?"

"I will! Well, no..." Arya pauses, pacing again. "I don't really have time. I need to get my car fixed and practice for Friday, but I promise you that I will find someone for you by the end of the day."

Sansa narrows her eyes. "Who are you going to find? You just moved here. You don't know anyone besides Jon and that mechanic that seems to have taken a liking to you."

Arya's face blushes at the mention of the mechanic, and Sansa realizes that's a topic she wants to pursue later. "I'll find someone."

"The thing is, I know someone who might be willing to help me."

"Who?"

"He hates Joffrey as much as I do, and he definitely knows how to fight."

"Who?" Arya repeats.

"Sandor Clegane."

Arya snorts. "You want that fucking monster of a racer to teach you how to fight?"

"He's not a monster. He's actually quite gentle for his size."

"Gentle for his size?"

"Look. He's strong, and he's smart, and he hates Joffrey."

"You think he'll agree to teach you?"

"If you pay Sandor enough, I'm pretty sure he'll agree to do just about anything."

**A/N ****– Sorry this is a bit of a filler chapter. I'll try to get the next one up quickly. Hope you enjoyed!**

**Thank you so much for all of the reviews / alerts/ favorites !**


	11. Chapter 11

"Arya! How are you? Why haven't you called? How are your classes?" Arya winces at the onslaught of questions from her mother. This is what she gets for not calling for a week.

"I'm fine, mom." _Except from my broken car, the cut on my forehead, and this little shit named Joffrey_. "Classes are great."

"Have you made any new friends?"

"A few."

"Have you met any cute boys?"

Arya blushes, immediately thinking of Gendry. It's only been a day since they've kissed, and despite trying to erase the moment from her memory, she can't stopping thinking about it. Soft lips. Warm, hard body.

"No boys," Arya says firmly.

"Well there's plenty of time for that. You're young. Live your life."

Arya snorts. If only her mother knew the extent to which she was _living her life_. "How are the boys?"

"Bran is wonderful. He's been keeping his grades up. I think he'll definitely be valedictorian. He misses you though." Her mother sighs. "But Rickon got in trouble at school. Again."

"What was it this time?" Arya asks, smiling. Rickon is the only Stark child that manages to get into more trouble than Arya.

"Apparently, this other boy, Bobby, was picking on one of Rickon's friends. So Rickon put rubber cement glue on Bobby's chair, and it ripped off half his pants when he stood up."

"Typical. Is he in trouble?"

"Nothing too bad. Just another final warning."

"That's good to hear." Arya bites the corner of her nail. "How about dad? How's he doing?" Ever since her father was fired from Baratheon Corporations, he's been struggling to find steady work. He puts on a brave face, but Arya knows how worried he is about supporting the family.

"He's fine. He got a lead on some new work this morning. Some Japanese car that wants to land in America."

"That sounds promising."

"I hope so."

Arya glances at the clock. It's almost six. She's supposed to meet Gendry at the garage right after close so she can help with the car. "Mom, I've got to go. Some girls are getting together for a movie night."

"That sounds like fun. Have a good time, sweetheart. I love you."

"Love you too."

Arya ends the call and bites her lip. Lying to her family is becoming easier and easier. She doesn't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

* * *

Arya has to take a bus to get to Gendry's garage. It drops her off three blocks away, so she walks the rest of the way. By the time she gets to the shop, her cheeks are red and she's lightly sweating from walking in the damp heat. Self-consciously, she smoothes out her short hair and tugs at her jean shorts and tank.

She doesn't know what to expect. Last night, she got in a car accident, and it somehow ended up with Gendry kissing her. Or her kissing Gendry. Or kissing each other. It was so sudden. Of course, she's found herself attracted to Gendry in the past few days, but she assumed he looked at her like a little girl.

Why on earth would a grown mechanic be interested in a skinny, little racer?

Maybe it was just a moment. Just something that happened, and now they'll both move on. Arya has more important things to be concerned about, like her upcoming race on Joffrey's circuit and her sister. She doesn't need some schoolgirl crush getting in the way.

Arya heads straight into the shop without ringing the bell. When she gets inside, she finds Gendry bent over her car with a mask on his face and a soldering iron in his hand. He hasn't noticed her yet, so she watches him from a distance. Her eyes slowly trace over his strong, greased arms, his tousled dark hair, his full lips.

He must be the most attractive man she knows. He's definitely the most attractive man she's ever kissed. She watches him for a few more moments before clearing her throat and shouting, "Gendry!"

The soldering iron shuts off and Gendry lifts his mask. From the distance, Arya can't read the expression in his blue eyes. "Thought you'd come and help then?"

"Considering I crashed the car, I figure it's my duty to at least watch you fix it."

Gendry smirks. "I thought you hated me working on your car."

Arya eyes the crushed hood, the massive dents and scraps. "Let's just say this is above my level of expertise. I'm here for moral support."

"No you're not."

"Excuse me?"

"Grab a wrench. You're not getting out of here without getting your hands dirty."

Gendry smiles at her again, and Arya's pulse starts racing. She heads over to the tool chest and grabs a wrench. She spins it a few times in her hand before looking up at Gendry. "So," she says. "Are we going to talk about yesterday?"

Gendry places the iron down on the edge of the car. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his workpants. "I wasn't sure if you _wanted _to talk about it."

"Well of course I don't _want _to talk about it, but we're going to have to say something eventually, so why don't we just get it over with?" Arya crosses her arms. "You first."

"Why me?"

"Because I said so." Arya rolls her eyes, thinking, _I'm doing a great job of sounding mature for my age. _

"Fine. At least walk over here. I don't need to shout half-way across the room, do I?"

Arya spins the wrench in her hand a few more times before slowly stepping forward. She leans against the side of the car so that there's still some space between the two of them. But that space feels a lot smaller after last night. Arya glances at Gendry to find his blue eyes on hers. She bites her lip, trying to suppress any desire. "Close enough?" She asks.

"Yes."

_God, why is his voice so low_, Arya thinks. _And why does he keep looking at me like that? _

"So," Gendry continues. "Last night was very...sudden. And I've been thinking about it, and I owe you a very large apology." Without warning, Gendry takes Arya's hand. Her face flushes as his rough skin touches her own. She forces herself to meet his serious eyes. "You came to me injured, Arya, and I took advantage of you. Instead of taking you to the hospital, I, well, I pressed myself upon you in a way that was very inappropriate. And I'm sorry."

"You pressed yourself upon me?" Arya asks, raising her eyebrows.

"Well, I assaulted you."

Arya snorts. "Assaulted me?"

"I touched you in a way..."

"Now it just sounds like I was molested." Arya crosses her arms, pleased that she's managed to make Gendry flustered. She didn't like that serious look in his eyes. "Look, Gendry, whatever you did or did not do, you in no way took advantage of me. I'm not a little kid. I knew what I was doing."

"I'm not saying that you're a little kid, but you are much younger than me, and you were wounded, and I had no right to..." Gendry sighs, frustrated. He lets go of Arya's hand and starts pacing in front of the car. "I had no right to kiss you. It was inappropriate, and I'm sorry, and it won't happen again."

Arya's stomach drops. _It won't happen again. _But what if she wants it to happen again? Does that make any difference?

"I'm not that much younger than you," Arya mumbles.

"Hell, Arya. You're only eighteen. I'm twenty-four. That's a big difference."

"My father is years older than my mother." Arya bites her tongue immediately after saying that. She has to remember not to bring her family up around Gendry. The less he knows the better. "Besides, I'm mature for my age."

"You call getting yourself into a fucking car accident in the middle of the night on an abandoned road mature?"

Arya narrows her eyes. "That's besides the point, and you know it." Arya steps forward and grabs Gendry's hand. Again, she forces herself to look him in the eye, despite blushing. "Look," she says softly. "If you aren't interested in me like that, than that's okay. I understand. But don't use my age as an excuse." _Oh god, what am I saying, _Arya thinks. _I'm practically throwing myself at a man who probably doesn't even like me. _"I'm not, I'm not saying we should be together or anything like that, all right? I'm not asking you to be my stupid boyfriend. I'm just saying that there's obviously some sort of attraction between us, and if you could just stop being a dumb idiot for two seconds and admit that, than we could move on."

Gendry smirks. "A dumb idiot?"

"Press yourself upon me?" Arya let's go of Gendry's hand and takes a step back. Her face is probably bright red.

"So that's what you want?" Gendry asks. "You want to move on."

_Is that really all he picked up from what I just said? _"I just want everything to be out in the open so that we can get back to what's important: my car."

It's the most sensible thing she's said all day. Racing is what matters. Not some stubborn mechanic. No matter how broad his shoulders are.

"Fine." Gendry picks up the soldering iron. "We kissed. It happened. For one reason or another, and now we're moving on."

"Right."

"Right." Gendry puts his mask back on. "Now grab that wrench so that we can get to work."

For the next few hours, Arya helps Gendry work on her car, thinking the entire time that they settled absolutely nothing. That she has no idea how he feels about her. And that she has no idea if she'll ever get to kiss him again.

* * *

The car isn't fixed until Friday morning. That leaves Arya only a few hours to practice before the race that night. She heads out to Cajon Cross, promising Gendry that she won't practice her new trick alone, and that if he doesn't hear from her by sundown, he's allowed to call in a search party.

Arya slides open her phone and dials Jon's number. He picks up on the first ring. "Where the hell have you been?" He asks. Arya rolls her eyes. He's angry as usual. "I went back out to Cajon Cross the next day, and all I found was a toppled over tree, some blood, and broken glass. And then you don't pick up your phone for the rest of the week. Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," Arya says with bored sarcasm.

"I know you're fine or you wouldn't be calling." Jon sighs, and Arya can imagine him pacing back and forth in his apartment, Ghost watching his every step.

"I'll be in the race tonight. Will you be there?"

"No. I'm sitting this one out. Full roster, apparently, and I could use the break."

"So it'll be me, the Hound, and who else?"

"Not totally sure. Probably Loras. He isn't very tricky, but he's fucking fast, and he has the best reaction time I've ever seen." Jon pauses. "And then I guess one more racer. Not sure who."

"Loras. The name sounds familiar."

"I think he's family friends with the Baratheons. I'm not sure."

"All right." Arya bites her lip. She's nervous. She was hoping Jon would be in the race tonight. That way she'd be up against at least one familiar face. "Will you be there, you know, in the audience?"

"Of course, I will. I don't want someone beating my little sister into a bloody pulp without me there to stop them."

"Thank you for that wonderful visual and those words of encouragement."

"I'm just being honest, Arya. I've warned you once, and twice-"

"-and a third and a fourth time-"

"It's dangerous out there. These aren't all nice people. So protect yourself, and don't be dumb."

"Anything else?" Arya asks.

"Yeah. One more thing." Jon pauses. "Win the race."

* * *

Arya's pulse is racing as she pulls up to the line of cars. She's late. There are already three cars parked beside hers on the starting line. She shuts off her engine and tugs her hat low before stepping out of the car. The crowd of spectators is larger than usual, and Arya wonders if that's because Cat of El Cajon is racing tonight.

She spies Gendry in the crowd. Jon is standing less than ten feet away from him. The sight makes her nervous, and she prays they won't start talking to each other. Next to them is Joffrey's tent. Sansa sits under it, talking to another girl who is wearing very tight shorts and a cropped shirt. Sansa flickers her gaze towards Arya for just a second before looking away again.

"I'm so glad you've decided to grace us with your presence, Cat." Arya looks up to find Joffrey standing right in front of her. He's wearing black pants and a plain, white top. Much more casual than his usual attire. Arya notices a pair of racing gloves sticking out of his pocket.

"Sorry I'm late." She eyes the gloves. "Are you racing, Joffrey?"

"I've decided to test out the skill of the new racer myself, seeing as how my dog hasn't been very cooperative lately." He glances at Sandor who is leaning against his own car. "I hope that doesn't change your mind about racing. I wouldn't want to scare you away."

Arya bites back a laugh. There's no way Joffrey is a better racer than her. This will be a piece of cake. "I'm all right, but thank you for considering my feelings."

Joffrey takes a step forward, and Arya bows her head down. "Still won't show us your face, Cat? It can't be worse to look at than Sandor's."

Arya doesn't respond.

"Fine. The race will start in ten minutes. I'll see you at the finish line." Joffrey strides away back to his tent. Arya watches as he snaps at Sansa. She immediately leans over to help him put on his gloves.

Someone taps Arya on the shoulder and she spins around. Gendry is standing behind her, his blue eyes panicked. He steps closer and leans down so that his mouth is against her ear. She shivers at the contact. "You have to lose the race," he whispers.

"Why?" Arya asks, confused.

Gendry stands back up but keeps his voice low. "You can't beat Joffrey."

Arya laughs. "I can definitely beat Joffrey."

"Keep your voice down." He takes another step forward. Arya can feel the heat radiating off his body. She tries to pay attention to the conversation, but being so close to Gendry is distracting. She's feels like they've been playing cat and mouse all week. And whenever he's around, her thoughts drift back to the feeling of his lips against her own. "I'm mean, you _shouldn't_ beat Joffrey. He'll be furious. He'll never let you race again. A couple times a year, Joffrey gets bored and decides he wants to race himself, and everyone lets him win."

"But, why? That's stupid."

"Because if he doesn't win, he'll shut the circuit down. He'll be embarrassed and furious, and that'll be the end of it. Without Joffrey's deep pockets, this circuit won't survive."

"So everyone just _lets _him win?"

"Yes." Gendry locks eyes with Arya. "And you better let him too. Don't let your stubborn pride get in the way."

"I'm not stubborn."

Gendry raises an eyebrow.

"All right, fine. I'll let him win."

"Good." Gendry grabs Arya's hand and squeezes it tightly for just a second. "I'll see you after the race, Arya Stark."

**A/N ****–Sorry. Short chapter. It was a struggle getting this one out because it was a bit of a filler chapter again. But things will heat up shortly. **

**As always, thank you for reading a reviewing. You guys are the best!**


	12. Chapter 12

Arya pulls on her leather racing gloves before flexing her hands twice and placing them on the wheel. She glances to the side, waiting for the whistle to be blown. She's on the left edge. Joffrey is next to her, than Loras, than Sandor. Joffrey catches her stare and narrows his eyes. Arya quickly tugs down her cap. She doesn't like how it impairs her vision, but it's better than Joffrey finding out her real identity.

The whistle blows and Arya guns the gas. She shifts the car, quickly gaining speed, 30...55...90...110...All of the cars are neck and neck as the speed down the first stretch of road. Arya holds steady, still unsure of what to do.

Gendry told her to throw the race, to let Joffrey win. She trusts Gendry's advice. She believes that if Joffrey loses, he'll through a fit and possibly shut down the circuit. But still- Arya can't comprehend losing on purpose. Losing a race is bad enough. Why would she want to give one away?

At least she didn't bet any money on this first race. If she let's Joffrey win, the only thing she'll lose is her pride.

Arya looks to the right. Loras has begun to surge away from the pack, but Sandor is right at his tail. He edges dangerously close to Loras' bumper before barely banging it. Loras swerves to the side, and by the time he regains control of his car, he's a few seconds behind the rest of the racers.

Joffrey is still holding ground with Arya. She could slow down and then edge around his side before bursting forward. Or she could sidle right next to Joffrey's car and bully him into slowing down or getting hit. Or she could stay exactly where she is and let him win.

She bites her lip. There's less than a mile left on the circuit. She'll have to make a decision soon. She tries to think about what Jon would do. He's been racing in this circuit for years near. He must have raced Joffrey at some point. _And I guess he let Joffrey win_, Arya thinks,_ or that would have been his last race. _It doesn't seem like Jon to let someone bully him into losing. It doesn't seem like Jon to let someone get their way just because they have money.

_Fuck_. While lost in her thoughts, Arya somehow surged ahead of Joffrey and Sandor. She stopped concentrating on keeping level, and instead, starting driving on autopilot. And Arya's autopilot is to drive as fast as possible.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. _There's only half a mile left in the stretch. She's at least two car lengths in front of Joffrey. If she slows down now, it'll look like she's losing on purpose. But if she doesn't slow down, she'll win the race.

Which one is worse?

Arya spies Loras in her rearview mirror. He's coming up straight behind her. Joffrey is to his side. Arya chews on her lip, panicked, pulse racing. _What do I do? _

At the last second, she spots a ditch in the road, just a few paces to her left. She quickly swerves and let's her car dive into the pothole. It's not large enough to do any damage, but it slows her down by a few seconds, and Joffrey rushes past her. Along with Loras and Sandor.

_Dammit_, Arya thinks as she crosses the finish line in last place. _Not only have I let Joffrey win, but in my idiocy, I let Sandor and Loras beat me too._

Arya pulls her car into park and shuts off the engine. She breathes deeply, trying to control her anger. At herself. At the entire situation. As she steps out of the car, she slams her door shut behind her.

Joffrey is standing in front of his car, waving at the cheering crowd. Arya notices that the applause isn't half as loud as the first race she went to. Joffrey walks over to Sandor and slaps him on the back. "Second place, not bad for a dog," he says. "I'm glad you know where you belong now."

Sandor stares him down with cold, black eyes, but he doesn't say a word. He nods stiffly at Loras and Arya before stalking back to his car and driving away. Joffrey turns to Loras and shakes his hand. "Fine racing," Joffrey says. "It's a pity Sandor managed to bump you off in the beginning. It's hard to make up for that kind of loss."

Loras shakes Joffrey's hand and smiles. For the first time, Arya notices how attractive Loras is. He has thick, curly hair and a charming smile. "There'll be another race another night. I hope to test my skill against your excellent ability once more."

"A gracious loser is a winner in my accounts. Please, join me at my tent. Your sister and my fiancé seem to be great friends, and I'd like it if we could all go to dinner together."

"Of course. Thank you, Joffrey." Loras heads towards the tent. Arya watches as the girl in the tight shorts and top stands up to hug him and place a chaste kiss on his cheek. Sansa smiles affectionately in Loras' direction.

"And you," Joffrey says, approaching Arya. "I thought you had me for a moment, but obviously my skill far surpasses yours." He says this loudly so that the whole street can hear.

But as he gets closer, he grabs Arya's hand. He shakes it once before gripping it tightly. He leans in and whispers coldly in her ear, "I know you threw that race. And I'm sure a few of the more intelligent spectators out there know the same thing. I won't have you embarrassing me on my own circuit by _letting _me win."

_Everyone let's you win you little piece of shit_, Arya wants to snap back. But she opens her mouth and tries to speak as sweetly as Sansa. "I don't know what you mean, Joffrey. I didn't see that ditch coming, and when I crashed into it, I lost my speed." She takes a step closer. Being so close to Joffrey makes bile churn in her stomach. But she won't let him intimidate her. "Maybe you should do a better job of keeping your circuit clean and paved."

"Don't you dare accuse me of negligence."

"Oh, I'm not accusing _you _of negligence. I'm accusing whoever you pay to keep this circuit in order of negligence."

"_I _am in charge of this circuit."

"Well then." Arya crosses her arms. "I guess it is your fault. Why don't you try fixing the road before throwing another four racers onto it."

Joffrey narrows his eyes and steps forward. "You are edging dangerously close to suspension from this circuit."

"What for?"

"For being a pesky, little bitch."

Arya suppresses the urge to step on Joffery's foot and punch him in the nose. "I'm sorry, Joffrey. I was just suggesting that if you wanted to win in a fair race, you could make sure the conditions are in perfect order. Now if you don't mind, I'm tired and would like to head home."

"Fine," Joffrey snaps. "Be here next Friday. If you lose again, you're off the circuit. If you lose on purpose, I'll fucking run you out of San Diego and strip your car of its parts. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly. Good night, Joffrey."

* * *

"Fuck," Arya screams as her car slams back down onto the pavement. She's been practicing all week, trying to perfect the trick Jon taught her, but she can't keep the car in the air for long than four seconds. It'll take at least five to pass someone in a race.

"Why don't we take a break?" Gendry asks from the passenger seat. He looks a little nauseous. Probably from being in Arya's car for three hours straights as she lifts it vertically.

"No," Arya says firmly. "I have to race again in two days, and I want to have this trick down cold before that happens. You are more than welcome to go home, and I can keep practicing by myself.

Gendry laughs. "Yes, because that worked out so well last time."

"I don't know why you insist on babysitting me. I'm not a child." _Even though you might look at me like one_, Arya thinks. It's been almost a week since they've kissed, and Arya hasn't dared to broach the topic again. She's too nervous to get shot down.

"I'm not babysitting you. I'm just making sure you don't get yourself killed."

"You do realize that if I crash this car, I'll kill you too, right?"

"Well then please don't crash the car." Gendry glances at Arya. "You still haven't paid me for the parts from the last time you crashed it. I can't afford to fix it again."

Arya looks at Gendry guiltily. She feels terrible that she hasn't paid him back yet, but if she takes any more money from her account, her parents will get suspicious. And she knows Gendry doesn't really have the money to spare. "I know," she says. "I'm sorry. But if I get this trick down, I will definitely win the race on Friday. And I'll bet on myself and make plenty of money from winning. Enough to pay you back and enough to afford my motel."

"Your motel?"

"Yeah." Arya bites her lip. "Yesterday was my last night. I'm out of cash."

"So where are you going to sleep tonight?"

"Sansa's."

"Arya," Gendry says, leaning over in the seat. "You can't sleep at Sansa's."

"Why not?"

"What if Joffrey comes over?"

"Fuck. Of course you're right." _And I can't sleep at Jon's_, she thinks_, because he's still pissed at me for racing. There's no way I can ask him to help me out even more than I already have_. "I guess I'll just sleep in my car then. It'll only be a couple nights, and then I'll win the race and have plenty of money."

"Don't be an idiot. You'll sleep at my place."

Arya looks at Gendry, his blue eyes serious. "I don't know, Gendry." Just the thought of sleeping in his apartment makes her pulse race. She's still hasn't been to his place. But if she sleeps there, she'll see where he sleeps, where he showers. A knot of desire tightens in her stomach. She licks her lip. "Maybe that's not such a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Well. I just. I don't know." Arya looks out the window and then back to Gendry. "Are you sure I wouldn't be imposing?"

"What a polite question from, Arya Stark."

"Shut up."

"And you spoiled it." Gendry leans closer and grabs Arya's hand. Her skin feels heated. "But, no, Arya. You would not be imposing. I see you all day anyways. I don't think it'll make a difference if you sleep at my apartment too."

Arya pulls her hand away. She gets too distracted whenever he touches her. "All right. If you insist." She grabs the gearshift and pulls the car into drive. "But before our sleepover, I'm going to practice the trick at least ten more times." Arya glances at Gendry. "Please don't throw up in my car."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Gendry says, all while slouching down in the seat and grabbing his stomach.

* * *

"God, that was delicious," Arya says, pushing the plate away from her. She's been living on a fast food diet for weeks now. She forgot what home cooked meals tasted like.

"Thanks," Gendry replies. He's still finishing off his third portion of stir-fry. "It was too expensive to eat out all the time, so I had to learn how to cook."

"I'm impressed. The most I can make is cereal. Sometimes I get really intense and cook up some ramen noodles."

Gendry smiles. "Yeah, I don't really see you as the domestic type. But then again- it'd be funny to see you with your hair all done up and an apron around your waist."

Arya throws her napkin at Gendry. "Shut it."

Gendry puts on a high, mock voice. "Oh, your tea will be ready in just a minute, Mr. Waters. Can I rub your feet, Mr. Waters? Shall I run you a bath, Mr. Waters?"

Arya picks up a spare noodle from her plate and flings it at Gendry's face. It sticks right to his cheek. "I said, shut it," she says, blushing.

"All right, all right." Gendry picks up their plates and walks over to the sink. "But come on, you could at least help me with the dishes. I did _cook _for you."

"Fine," Arya mutters. She walks over to the sink and starts washing the dishes, handing them to Gendry to dry as she goes. A few dishes in, she gives a gigantic yawn. Nymeria looks up from the floor and cocks her head to the side. "I'm just tired," Arya tells her.

"Long day?" Gendry asks.

"I woke up at seven. Thought I'd get some extra practice in before you started pestering me. Don't worry, though. Nothing dangerous or especially life-threatening."

Gendry smirks. "Of course not. Well, we can go to sleep soon if you want. I have to work early in the morning anyways." He turns to Arya and looks down at her. Sometimes Arya forgets how tall he is. When they're standing this close, he towers over her. "Here's the thing," Gendry says. "We'll have to share the bed."

Arya starts blushing furiously. She wishes she didn't do that so easily. "We-" she sputters. "What? I mean- I can sleep on-"

Gendry starts laughing as Arya continues to stutter and blush. He doubles over and holds his stomach. When he finally stands up, there are few tears leaking out of his blue eyes. "God. The look on your face. I was kidding, Arya. I'll sleep on the couch." He starts laughing again. "I didn't know you'd be so terrified to share a bed with me. I'm not that horrible, am I?"

"I wasn't-" Arya starts stuttering again. Of course she wasn't scared. She was worried and embarrassed. How would she be able to _control _herself with Gendry in a bed next to her. "I wasn't terrified. You just took me by surprise. And there's no way I'm going to let _you _sleep on the couch. It's your apartment. I'll take the couch."

"Don't be stupid. You have to race in two days. Take the bed. You need rest."

"No. You take the bed," Arya retorts again. "Stop being so stubborn." Her and Gendry stare at each other for a few seconds before they both seem to have the same idea at the same time.

Arya gets a head start. She shoves Gendry to the side before racing towards the living room. She dives straight for the couch and lands with a thump. She tries to lie down so that she can take up the whole couch, but Gendry is right behind her, and he jumps next to her. "Off the couch," he yells, tickling her sides.

Arya starts laughing and rolling around. "Stop," she gasps as Gendry continues to tickle her.

"Nope," Gendry laughs, his eyes sparkling. "Not until you promise to take the bed."

"Never!" Arya jumps forward and starts attacking Gendry, climbing on top of him so that she can tickle his neck. They continue to tickle each other until Arya is completely out of breath and red in the face. "All right!" Arya finally gasps. "I give up. You win!"

"Victory!" Gendry yells.

She's suddenly very aware that she's straddling Gendry and that their limbs are twisted together. He looks at her, and the knot of desire grows. Their bodies are flushed and pressed together. If she leaned down just a little bit further, she could press a kiss to his full lips. Gendry's thumb absentmindedly traces her lower back where her shirt has slipped up. The bare skin tingles under his touch.

Slowly, Arya starts to lean forward, but Gendry clears his throat. "So you should get to bed then."

Arya's stomach drops. How could she be so stupid for a second time? She's literally on top of him. If Gendry wanted her, he would have done something about it. "Right," she says, trying her best to make her voice sound normal. "Bed." She awkwardly dismounts and heads down the hallway towards the bedroom. "Good night, Gendry."

A few hours later, Arya is still wide-awake. She changed into an oversize t-shirt and biking shorts. But despite Gendry's bed being comfortable, she can't sleep. All she can do is think about him. She rolls over and groans into the pillow. _Fuck_, she thinks, frustrated, _even the pillow smells like him. I shouldn't be thinking about Gendry, I should be thinking about the race on Friday. _She knew it was a bad idea to sleep over. She should have listened to her own advice.

Groaning, she rolls over again and stares at the ceiling fan as it spins round and round. She stays like that for a few minutes before hearing footsteps in the hallway. They get closer and closer, and Arya grips the comforters, half-scared, half-excited. The doorknob turns and a dark shadow edges into the room.

Arya sits up. "Gendry?" She whispers.

The figure gets closer until she can see Gendry in the dim light. He's shirtless, and his bare skin looks hallow in the moonlight. Arya shivers.

"Gendry?" She repeats.

"Sorry," he whispers. He lifts up the covers and Arya automatically moves over so that he can slide into bed. "It was my first time trying to sleep on that couch. Apparently, it's fucking uncomfortable as hell."

"Oh," Arya says softly. It's a small bed. Their shoulders are just barely touching, yet her whole body is warm.

"I hope you don't really mind sharing."

"No," Arya says. "I don't mind at all."

**A/N ****– Sorry for the cliché bed-sharing scene, but let's be real, we all love it. **

**As always, thank you for reading. I got some wonderful, LONG reviews from you guys last chapter, and I really appreciated the time you took to write them.**

**I think next chapter is going to be a San /San FYI**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N ****– This is a San / San chapter. It starts the night after the last race (on Saturday)- so we're jumping back in time a few days from Arya's last chapter. Hope it's not confusing!**

"Your clothes are very boring," Margaery sulks as she rummages through Sansa's closet. "Pretty, but boring."

"They aren't boring," Sansa responds. She snatches a cream dress from the closet. It's a sheath dress that falls right above her knee. "What about this?"

Margaery eyes it with disdain. "Not only is that the most miserable color, or lack of color, in the world, but that shape does absolutely nothing for your figure." Margaery steps away from the closet, her mischievous eyes sparkling. "Come on. Let's go shopping. We should both look our best for dinner tonight. It's about time Joffrey decided to take Loras under his fold."

Sansa and Margaery have been close friends for months now, and Margaery has confided multiple times that she is trying to get her brother into Joffrey's good graces. Loras loves racing, but he also wants a position with Baratheon Corporations where he can start bringing in more money. "I don't know," Sansa says. "I shouldn't spend the money."

"Sansa, what's the point of having a rich fiancé if you can't take advantage of his credit card every now and again? I'm sure Joffrey would be more than happy to buy you something pretty, especially if he doesn't have to take the time to pick it out himself."

_Joffrey does like it when I dress more risqué, _Sansa thinks, knowing that she always picks out her tightest, shortest dresses to appease Joffrey's temper. Sansa relents. "All right, we'll go to the mall, but this isn't a shopping spree. Just a dress each for tonight and that's it, okay?"

Margaery smiles. "Of course. I wouldn't dare take advantage of Joffrey's generosity."

* * *

It's almost six o'clock by the time Sansa and Margaery leave the mall. They're both laden with heavy shopping bags, and they've had their nails and hair done. Margery is beaming happily as she throws the bags in her red convertible. "Come on," she says, "let's go back to you place to dress. I wouldn't want to be late for dinner."

Sansa eyes the thick piles of bags. "I think we may have overdone it. I hope Joffrey won't be mad."

"As soon as he sees you in that dress, all thoughts of money will leave his mind. I can promise you that."

Margaery drives them back to Sansa's apartment where they both get dressed. Margery wiggles into a tight dress that drapes dangerously low into her cleavage. Gold and green flowers adorn the fabric in subtle, twisting patterns. Margaery spins in the mirror twice before admiring her reflection. "Perfect," she says. "Go on then. Put your dress on."

Biting her lip, Sansa pulls the dress out of the bag. It's by far the most expensive article of clothing she has ever purchased. But the shimming, silver fabric immediately attracted her attention in the store. The dress has a modest length, cutting off near the knee, the sleeves run down to her wrists, and it doesn't expose any of her cleavage, but the fabric is skintight. It takes Sansa a few minutes to pull up the dress, but once on, it's surprisingly comfortable.

Sansa looks towards the mirror and turns back and forth. The dress catches the light and shimmers beautifully, and the material clings to her each and every curve, accentuating her breasts and waist. "Wow," Margaery breathes from behind her. "It's even more beautiful than in the store."

Sansa can't help but smile. "Yes. I like it very much."

"Like it very much," Margaery mocks. "You're so proper, Sansa. You need to relax or one day you're going to explode."

_It's hard to relax when you're engaged to the devil himself. It's hard to relax when you hold the fate of your entire family in your hands, _Sansa thinks. She looks at Margaery and tries to give her a genuine smile. "I am relaxed. There's nothing wrong with having good manners."

"Yes, but being bad is much more fun." Margaery grabs Sansa's arm. "Come on, let's do our makeup. We're going to be late."

* * *

Everyone is already seated by the time Margaery and Sansa make it to the restaurant. It's a large family dinner. Everyone is there. Joffrey is sitting next to his newly acquired friend, Loras, but Cersei, Jaime, Sandor, and Tyrion are also at the table.

Sansa seats herself next to her dwarf, uncle-to-be, and he smiles gently at her. "How are you, Sansa? It's been much too long."

"I'm very well. Thank you," Sansa responds politely.

"Might I say, that new dress is quite a spectacle. You might make sure Joffrey contains himself until dinner is finished."

Sansa blushes lightly. "Thank you." She pauses. "I think."

She glances at Joffrey who is staring at her with lust in his eyes. _At least that's better than anger_, she thinks. They haven't been very intimate lately. Sansa tries her best to find excuses to avoid him. They used to sleep together all the time, before she discovered his cruel interior. Joffrey raises his glass. "Sansa, Margaery, I'm so glad you've managed to join us. May I say you both look beautiful tonight?"

Margaery beams happily. "Thank you, Joffrey, and might I return the compliment to yourself? You're as stunning as a rose." She winks, and the entire table laughs, Joffrey included.

_Thank god he seems to be in a good mood tonight_, Sansa thinks. "Where is your father?" Sansa asks.

Cersei turns to Sansa, her face cold and impassive. "Robert couldn't make it. I'm afraid my husband has decided to fly off to Hawaii for the weekend. Said he needed a vacation after working so hard."

Tyrion snorts into his almost empty wine glass. "Yes because guzzling down food and drink is so tiring to the mind."

Sansa keeps quiet. Although Robert is better than has ill-tempered son, he still isn't the most respectable man in the world. He's drunk most of the time, and when he isn't drunk, he always has a foul temper.

"Perhaps," Jaime says, rising his voice above Tyrion's, "We might toast to Robert's health. Owning a multi-billion dollar company does tend to be straining."

Tyrion rolls his eyes but raises his glass with the rest of the table. He leans over and whispers in Sansa's ear. "My brother Jaime does all the work and lets Robert take the credit. Now, my dear, would you call that gallantry or idiocy?"

"I'd call it intelligence," Sansa whispers back. "Wouldn't want to bite the hand that feeds you."

"Yes, but what if the hand is rotten and old? What if the hand just needs to be chopped off?"

Sansa doesn't respond. Instead she looks around the table. Sandor catches her eye. He's staring at her, hard and cold. His eyes never venture from her face, and Sansa shivers under the unwavering attention. She knows she needs to talk to him, and soon. To ask for his help. But how will she manage to learn self defense from a man who scares her almost as much as Joffrey?

"To Robert," everyone is chiming around the table.

Sansa mouths, "To Robert," and takes a small sip of wine from her glass. She doesn't like getting drunk around the Baratheons and the Lannisters. It's better for her to keep her wits when they gather like this. It's no time for loose tongues.

"So," Joffrey says, turning his attention to the entire table. "As you all know, my sweet Sansa and I have been engaged for over a year now." He turns to Sansa and smiles. The smile only fills Sansa with dread.

"A wonderful year it has been," she replies, hoping her voice doesn't sound too cold.

"And so," Joffrey continues. "In front of our family and new friends, tonight, my darling Sansa, I propose we set a date for our wedding. One month from this day."

The entire table erupts into excited applause, but Sansa's stomach drops. _One month? That's too soon. Too fast. _She knew she'd have to marry him eventually, but she never imagined it would come this quickly. Sansa tries to clear her throat. She feels as if she can't breathe. _Stay calm_, she tells herself_, stay calm. _"Joff," she replies. "One month. That's hardly enough time to plan a wedding."

Joffrey smiles. "When you have enough money, it's plenty of time."

"But-" Sansa stalls, trying to think of any other possible excuse. "But there's just so much to do. Let's not rush into it."

"Rush into it?" Joffrey asks. Sansa can see the rage growing in his eyes. "We've been engaged for a year. I'd hardly call that rushing into anything." He narrows his eyes. "You do want to be married, don't you?"

The entire table is staring at her, and Sansa tries her best to control a calm demeanor. _You are stronger than them_, she tells herself, _you are smarter than them. _"Of course I want to marry you," she responds. "You just took me by surprise. That's all." She forces a smile and takes a sip of wine. "Oh my. One month. I'm so excited, now, Joffrey. I just don't know what to do." She makes herself giggle and turns to Margaery, begging her friend will help. "Oh, Margaery, you have to be my maid of honor. Please, please."

Margaery, perhaps smarter than anyone at the table, immediately grasps Sansa's hand and smiles. "Yes, of course I will." She smiles broadly and starts chattering in a high-pitched voice. "Oh, we have to go dress shopping next week, and what flowers should we have? What about cake? What type of cake do you like?"

Margaery continues to ramble until Joffrey cuts her off. He's smiling, but his eyes still look cold. "Well, that's settled. One month from now, we will be married." He raises his glass. "To Sansa Baratheon."

Everyone at the table raises their glass. "To Sansa Baratheon."

A cold pit of dread grows in Sansa's stomach. She sips her wine and prays it will stay down. _Sansa Baratheon. _The name tastes like poison on her tongue.

The rest of the dinner goes by in a blur for Sansa. She can't concentrate on conversation. She nods and smiles whenever someone addresses her, but besides that, all she can think about is the fact that in one month, she will have to marry Joffrey. For the hundredth time that night, she glances at Sandor. As usual, he hasn't spoken a word during the dinner. He simply sits silent and watching.

_He'll have to teach me to defend myself_, Sansa thinks_, and soon. There's no way I'm marrying Joffrey without a little protection. _

As soon as dinner ends, the party starts trailing out of the restaurant. Sansa lingers behind and lightly grabs Sandor's arm so that they are left alone at the table. He looks down at her, black eyes suspicious. "What?" He asks, practically growling.

"I need a favor," Sansa whispers. "Could you come over to my apartment tomorrow morning?"

Sandor steps forward. Sansa has to crane her head up so that she can meet his eyes. "Why?"

"I don't have time to explain, but if you agree to help me, I'll pay you."

"Fine," Sandor grunts.

He starts to turn around, but Sansa grabs his arm again. This time she grips the muscled skin more tightly. She stares at his thick arm, wishing she would be that strong. "Don't tell Joffrey," she whispers. "You can't."

He narrows his eyes, a hint of maybe even admiration in them. "Fine," he repeats before turning around and stalking out of the restaurant.

* * *

Sandor knocks on her door at ten in the morning. Sansa has already been up for hours. She's dressed in yoga pants and a tank top. She isn't sure what people usually wear when they practice fighting, but she's hoping her workout clothes will be good enough.

She takes a deep breath before walking over to the door and answering it. "You should ask who it is before answering the door," Sandor growls before stepping into the apartment.

"Right," Sansa says. "You're right." Sandor is already teaching her before she's even asked for his help.

Sandor strides further into the apartment and stands in the middle of the room. His bulk makes her apartment seem tiny in comparison. "How's your cheek?" He suddenly asks.

Sansa is touched, surprised he thought to ask. Sandor doesn't seem like the compassionate type. "Better. Thank you."

Sandor grunts in response. She stares at him for a few moments longer. He's wearing long, dark jeans and his worn, leather jacket. His scarred face looks softer in the morning light. He catches her gaze and stares her down with those unyielding, black eyes. "What do you want?" He asks.

"I need help." Sansa spent all of last night deciding how to broach the topic with Sandor, and she decided that honesty was her best bet. Sandor isn't the type of man that can be easily deceived. "Joffrey, as you know, has the tendency to be abusive. And I want to learn how to defend myself against him. I thought you might be willing to help me, seeing as how Joffrey isn't exactly your favorite person in the world. And I will of course pay you."

"Why?" Sandor asks.

"Excuse me?"

He stares at her. Even from across the room, it makes her shiver. _Every time he does that, I feel like he's looking right through me_. "Why?" He repeats. "Why are you going to marry someone who hits you?"

Sansa can feel her hands starting to shake. She didn't expect him to ask that. She didn't expect him to care enough to ask. But she can't tell him the truth. He might spread it around for the right price. "It's complicated," she responds, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's complicated and very personal."

"Why should I help you if you wont tell me the truth?"

"Because I'll pay you."

"Why else?"

Sansa looks down at her hands. "Because," she whispers. "I have no one else to ask."

Sandor is silent for a few minutes. He paces around the room, eventually ending up by the window. He stares out of it as he speaks, "I'm no teacher."

Sansa's heart leaps. It sounds like he's about to relent. "I know, but you are a fighter, and that's good enough from me. I know you can help if you try."

"I'm not promising anything." He turns from the window and looks at Sansa. "But I'll help if I can."

Sansa smiles, relief flooding through her. She strides forward and grabs Sandor's hands grasping them tightly, "Thank you," she says. Sandor immediately pulls away from her grip, as if her hands had burned him. He stares at her with an unreadable expression.

Sansa clears her throat. "How much should I pay you?"

"I don't want your money."

"But-"

Sandor looks down at her, hard eyes unmoving. "I said, I don't want your money."

"Okay," Sansa says softly. She's confused. Why would Sandor help her without getting paid for it? What's in it for him? Her stomach knots with anxiety. What if he tells Joffrey what she asked for? How does she really know she can trust him?

But the decision has already been made. She's placed her fate in his hands. "Can we start today?" She asks.

"No. I have to run some errands for your fiancé. I'll be by tomorrow." He steps forward and looks at Sansa, eyes studying her body as he slowly sweeps over each and every curve. Sansa tries to stay still, but her body feels heated with his eyes on her like that, attentive and unwavering.

"What is it?" She finally asks, crossing her arms, trying to hide some of herself from his penetrating gaze.

"You're small," Sandor finally replies. "If you want to start practicing without me, I suggest you try lifting some weights and strengthening your thighs and calves." Again, his eyes sweep over her legs. Sansa is suddenly very aware of how tight her yoga pants are. How he's almost staring at her exposed. "You won't be able to beat Joffrey without power behind those punches and kicks."

"Okay," Sansa says. "I can do that." She takes a deep breath. "I can be stronger."

**A/N ****– I quite liked this chapter. I'm not sure why, but I was feeling it as I wrote it. I hope you guys liked it too.**

**As always- thank you for reading and reviewing. It'll be another Arya x Gendry next chapter!**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N ****– Is anyone interested in helping me make some fanart for this story? Either digital or drawn? PM me if you are interested. **

Arya wakes up only to find herself tucked against Gendry's bare, warm chest. One of his arms is draped over her stomach, and the other is cradling her head. Their legs are tangled together. _Definitely a small bed_, Arya thinks, enjoying the comfort of his bare skin pressed against her back.

Gendry is breathing light and steady. Arya doesn't want to wake him up, so she stays perfectly still and lets her eyes flutter close once more. _If only we could stay like this all day_, Arya thinks. _No work, no racing, just lounging in bed_. Except, of course, Gendry will probably freak out as soon as he wakes up. God forbid he touches Arya, much less spoons her while half-naked.

_Enjoy it while it lasts_, Arya thinks. She knows it's silly. She shouldn't let her thoughts or feelings be consumed by some man. But between Joffrey and her family and her racing, there are so many things to worry about, and even if it's for just a few more hours, it feels wonderful to snuggle back in Gendry's hard chest, ignore her problems, and fall back asleep.

When Arya wakes up for the second time, she's alone in bed. She can hear the shower running in the bathroom, and her face flushes, as she thinks of Gendry naked inside of it. He must have jumped out of bed as soon as he woke up and found himself tangled in Arya. The shower shuts off, and Arya sits up in bed, clutching the warm sheets to her chest.

Gendry steps out of the bathroom and Arya's mouth goes dry. There's a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, revealing the sharp planes of his stomach. Water drips from his head, trailing all the way down to the fine line of coarse hair that disappears behind the towel. Arya slowly draws her eyes away from his bare torso, only to find Gendry staring at her with an amused expression on his face.

"I thought you were asleep," Gendry says. "I hope I didn't wake you up."

_This is just about the best wake-up I've ever had, _Arya thinks. Again, she finds her eyes wavering towards his bare chest. She clears her throat. "I should probably get going. Practice and all. I think Jon wanted to help me today."

"Right. I need to get to work too, but if you want to shower, the bathroom is all yours. There should be extra towels in the cabinet."

"Okay." Arya pushes the sheets back and steps out of bed. She bends over, stretching out her tired muscles. Gendry is staring at her when she stands back up. His blue eyes quickly flicker over her legs.

_Is it hot in here_, Arya wants to ask, only half-joking. She feels like there's a palatable tension between Gendry and her, even if he won't admit it. She takes a step forward. And then another. "Arya?" Gendry says, his voice low and hoarse from sleep.

"Yes?" She looks up at him, ready to close the small space between them.

Gendry leans down. His blue eyes trained on her own. "Could you-" He pauses. "Could you move? I need to change."

Arya starts blushing furiously and immediately jumps out of the way. "Of course. Work. Shower. Got it," she starts rambling. "I need to feed Nymeria. Take her out. You. You put clothes on."

As Arya hurries out of the room, she can hear Gendry chuckling behind her. He calls out to her, "For being such an excellent racer, you really are a complete spaz, Arya Stark."

* * *

"You know, you did the right thing on Friday," Jon says. Arya and Jon are sitting on the roof of his car, staring down the empty, flat road of Cajon Cross. It's still early in the morning, and a cool breeze whips through their hair.

"I know." Arya bites her lip. "But it felt wrong."

"No one wants to lose a race, but if you had beaten Joffrey, it would have been game over. It's all right to lose the battle, as long as you win the war." Jon flips his keys, pitching them into the air, and catching them deftly with one hand. "I meant to ask you, what were you doing with that mechanic again, Gendry?"

_Don't blush, don't blush_, Arya tells herself. She tries to have a hard exterior, but it's difficult when her cheeks flame up at the slightest embarrassment or lie. "He's just a friend. He's helped me with my car a couple of times."

"Why wouldn't you come to me for help?"

"He's a mechanic, Jon. Not a racer with a toolbox."

"Still." Jon catches the keys a final time and tucks them in his pocket. "I'd rather you come to me for help instead of some local bastard."

"He's not a bastard!" Arya snaps, immediately on the defensive.

"That's not what I meant. I meant he's an actual bastard, like born out of adultery."

Arya narrows her eyes, trying to remember what Gendry told her about his family. He said he didn't know his mother or father, and she didn't push the subject because it wasn't any of her business. "How do you know that?" Arya asks. "And why does it matter even if he _is_ a bastard?"

Jon laughs harshly. "I don't care that he's a bastard. I care that he's Robert Baratheon's bastard."

Arya's stomach drops. She can't believe it. "He's what?"

"Robert's bastard. As in step-brother to Joffrey fucking Baratheon."

"That's not true." It can't be true. Why wouldn't Gendry tell her that himself? He knows she hates Joffrey. Why wouldn't he tell her that they were actually related? Why would he hide that from her? Suddenly all the trust she's put in Gendry seems to be crumbling away. "Do you have any proof?"

"If you've been on the circuit long enough, it's pretty commonly known. Technically it's just a rumor. Joffrey would never admit to be connected to a poor mechanic, but it's the truth. I'm sure of it."

"Why doesn't Gendry live with the Baratheons then?"

Jon shrugs his shoulders. "Because Robert is a drunk fool? That's a question you'll have to ask Gendry. You two seem close. Maybe he'll answer it."

Arya chews on her lip. "We aren't _that_ _close_."

"Good. Because if you get _that close _I'll bruise him up bad enough that he won't be able to touch your _car _for months."

Arya pushes Jon in the shoulder. "It's not like that," she mumbles, half-heartedly, too distracted by Gendry's past to really care what Jon thinks.

"I wish I believed you. He stares at you like you're the only thing out there when we're at the circuit. You should have seen the look on his face when Joffrey was talking to you last week. Looked like he was ready to rip apart that little shit and claw off his face."

"You're making him sound like a animal."

"Yes, a very protective, large animal that I don't want messing with my little sister."

"I'm not little."

Jon ruffles Arya's hair. "But you are little. A little cat in a very big jungle."

* * *

"We need to talk," Arya says as she walks into Gendry's shop. He's sitting on a workbench, tinkering with an engine part.

"What's up?" Gendry asks. "Did you want to go practice again?"

"No. Well, yes. But that's not what I want to talk about." The next race is tomorrow, and Arya _has _to learn the trick by then. But she can't practice with Gendry's new familial relation on her mind.

"What is it then?"

Arya takes a deep breath before locking eyes with Gendry. _Straight to the point_, she tells herself_, there's no reason to draw this out. _"Gendry, when I first met you, I asked about your family, and you avoided the subject. And that was fine because it wasn't any of my business."

Gendry grits his jaw. "It still isn't your business."

"I'm not so sure about that anymore. Because it _would _be my business if you happened to be related to Joffrey Baratheon."

Gendry stands up, dark blue eyes flashing with anger. "My background isn't your business, Arya."

"Yes. It is." Arya crosses her arms. She won't let Gendry intimidate her. He might look furious, but she can hold her ground. And as mad as he looks, there's no way he'd ever hurt her.

"Why?" Gendry asks. "Why do you care? So the piece of scum is engaged to your sister. Big deal."

"It's more than that," Arya responds.

"What do you mean?"

_Dammit_, Arya thinks. _How can I expect Gendry to be honest about his family if I can't be honest about mine? Can I trust him? Can I tell him who I really am? _

"What do you mean?" Gendry repeats, taking a step closer to Arya.

She takes a deep breath before continuing. She wants her voice to be steady. "The Baratheons and my family-" she pauses. "They go back a long way. I don't know how much you know about Baratheon Corporations, but my father used to be Robert's Vice President. That is up until about a year ago when my father was fired for no apparent reason and without severance payment."

Arya pauses again and glances at Gendry. He's staring at her with complete attention. "Gendry- if I tell you the rest- you have to absolutely promise not to share this information with anyone. Not even my parents know. Can I trust you?"

Gendry's blue eyes flicker for a moment before he grabs Arya's hand and runs a thumb gently across the soft skin. All the anger in his eyes is replaced with warmth. "Yes. You can trust me."

And when Arya looks into his eyes, she knows she can trust him. Because he's Gendry. And she shouldn't have doubted that trust for a second. She opens her mouth. "After my father was fired, Joffrey blackmailed Sansa into marrying him. He said that he wanted to keep a Stark on with Baratheon Corporations because it was good for the company's image. And if she doesn't marry him, he's going to sue our father for everything we're worth and throw him in jail. I know it sounds crazy, but it's the truth, and you have to believe me."

"I do believe you," Gendry responds. "It sounds exactly like something the Baratheons would do."

"So," Arya says softly, "That's why I need to know if you're related to them. Because Gendry, I hate them. And I plan on doing everything in my power to ruin them and get them away from my sister. And I don't know-" Arya shakes her head. "How can I know what side your on?"

Gendry stares at Arya with a look of disbelief. "How could you ask me that?"

"If Robert is your father, you must have some sort of attachment to him. I can't expect you to go against your own blood."

Gendry laughs darkly. "My father. My loving fucking father. Arya, when I told you I didn't know my parents, it was the truth. Robert got my mother pregnant and was out of the picture before I was even born. For five years, she begged him for money, for anything to help raise me with, but he never responded to her pleas. He never even bothered to visit me."

"What happened after five years?" Arya asks.

Gendry looks down, his voice quiet. "My mother died."

"You were an orphan at only five?" Arya can't help it. She feels her eyes filling with frustrated tears. It's not fair what the Baratheons have done to destroy so many other families. It's not fair, and it has to stop. "I'm so sorry," Arya says, knowing the words are useless.

"It's fine. It's all I've known, and I'm all right with it."

Arya grew up in a house of six children and two parents. She can't imagine growing up with no one. It was bad enough when Robb, Jon, and eventually Sansa left the house.

"Look at me, Arya." Feeling silly, Arya wipes the few tears from her eyes and looks up. Gendry is staring at her, blue eyes serious. "My parents don't define me. I might be related to Robert, but I'm not a Baratheon. I'm Gendry Waters. A mechanic, and _your _friend. I wouldn't betray you any more than you would betray your own siblings. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good." Gendry sighs deeply and then looks up again, smiling. "So. I guess it's time for practice then."

* * *

"Dammit!" Arya screams, slamming her hands against the wheel.

"You almost had it that time," Gendry says.

"You're a terrible liar."

"I'm serious. You were almost at five seconds." Gendry waves his phone in the air. "Look. I was timing it."

Arya looks at the digital stopwatch. It reads **00:00:456**. "See?" Gendry continues. "You almost had it."

"I guess so." Arya has been practicing the same trick the thousandth time. The clock is ticking. The race is tomorrow.

"I think you'll get it this time," Gendry says. "I can feel it."

"What are you psychic now?"

"Yes. I also predict that you will buy me Chinese food for helping you all week with this trick."

"You haven't been helping me. You've been sitting here, annoying me."

"I've been providing moral support."

"I don't need moral support. I need a stronger boost."

"Which I would be happy to install for you if you had any money." Gendry taps his jeans. "My pockets are as dry as yours."

"Well hopefully we'll both be rich tomorrow."

"Rich?"

"All right, hopefully we'll have enough money to pay the bills and buy a Happy Meal tomorrow."

Gendry laughs. "That sounds more accurate." He rubs his hands together. "Come on, though. Try the trick one more time. I know you can do it."

"Fine." Arya pulls the car into first and starts driving once again down the flat pitch of road. _You can do this_, she tells herself_, _gripping the wheel tightly. _You can do this._

As soon as she gains enough speed, she pulls the switch, and her car starts to lift into the air. "Steady," she says, talking to the car. "Easy does it." She lifts the car more slowly this time, letting it balance every few degrees before turning almost completely vertical. "Clock it," Arya calls out.

The car shakes as it speeds down the street on two wheels. Arya has the grip the wheel tightly to keep it from jerking right or left. Gendry is sitting beside her calling out the time, "Two seconds...three..."

"Come on," Arya whispers, a bead of sweat on the back of her neck.

"Four seconds...five!"

The car bangs back to the ground a millisecond after Gendry calls the time. Arya slams the breaks, bringing the car to an abrupt stop. Her hands are shaking, and she's smiling broadly. "Holy shit," she screams. "I did it! We did it!" She whips open her car door and steps outside, running around to the front of her car to stare at it.

Gendry gets out also, and Arya runs up to him excitedly. "We did it." She repeats. She steps closer and grabs Gendry's hands, shaking them. "We did it. I'm going to win the next match. I know it!"

Happiness and relief is flowing through her. Gendry looks down at Arya, smiling widely. He laughs. "I've never seen you this excited."

"I just-" Arya stops pacing and drops Gendry's hands. She catches his blue eyes. "Determination. That's all I need, and I can have everything I want."

_Everything. _

Suddenly, Arya grabs Gendry by the back of his neck and pulls his lip down to hers. Before he has a chance to push her away, Arya shoves him against the car and kisses him deeply. _Determination_, she thinks. Gendry is almost unresponsive until Arya quickly snakes her tongue into his warm mouth, and then, he suddenly shudders deeply and wraps his arms around her small back.

Their mouths attack each other, sharp, needy kisses. The tension that has been building since their first kiss feels like it's exploding, and Arya's skin is on fire. She gasps as Gendry pulls away from her lips and starts sucking on her neck. She leans into his touch, gripping the tight muscles of his back. Everything he touches feels like it's erupting with tiny, pinpoints of pleasure.

Gendry grabs Arya and flips her around so that he's pinning her against the car. He lifts her up the hood of the car. Her legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. She can feel his arousal pushing against her thigh, and it fills her with lust. _He wants me. I knew it._

Arya grips Gendry's hair and yanks up his face to meet hers. "Kiss me," she says, surprised by how low and husky her voice sounds. If she reacts like this from a few kisses, she can't imagine how quickly she'll unravel while doing something else.

Gendry dives back for Arya's mouth, and their lips and tongues battle for the upperhand, hot and furious. _He even kisses like a stubborn asshole_, Arya thinks, smiling into Gendry's mouth.

They continue, wrapped up in each other, for what feels like hours. When Arya finally pulls her lips away, they're swollen and red. Gendry is staring at her with ruffled hair and dark eyes. They watch each other, breathing heavily. Gendry slowly releases Arya, and she slides down from the hood of the car. She can feel the heat between their bodies, and all she wants to do is touch him again.

"That was..." Gendry starts. "Unexpected."

"That's all you can say, Gendry, that it was unexpected."

He smiles slowly, almost embarrassed. He rubs the back of his neck with his hand. "It was nice?"

"Nice?" Arya punches him in the arm.

"Oi! What was that for?"

Arya grabs her keys and starts to turn towards her driver's door. "You better come up with an adjective besides _nice _if you ever want that to happen again."

Gendry is laughing. He grabs Arya by the arm and spins her around. He presses her against the car, and Arya gasps, her pulse racing. Gendry leans down and brushes his mouth against her ear. She shivers. "All right, Arya, how about this?" His voice is low and teasing. "It was _very _nice."

And then he bites her earlobe softly, and that's all it takes for Arya to give in. She wraps her arms around Gendry. Right before kissing him, she smirks and says, "Let's find out what it takes to get an _amazing _out of you."

**A/N ****– Ooh. Fun chapter. Lots of our favorite stubborn people. **

**WARNING: I think I'm going to change the rating of this story to M. It won't probably be anything **_**too **_**intense, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.**

**Also, I'm not sure, but I think next chapter is going to be a San x San interlude.**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing : )**

**Kimboslice ****– Thank you for telling me about the drive / shift to first. I have no idea why I'm writing a racing story seeing as how I know nothing about cars. **

**Fox Alder****– I didn't even think about adding Ygritte because I already have some many characters going, but I love her, so maybe she'll slip in somewhere.**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N **

**First of all – I broke 200 reviews and then some last chapter, so thank you all so much. You guys are seriously amazing! **

**Second of all- this is another San/San chapter that takes a place a few days before the previous Arya chapter. It shouldn't be too confusing because all the events are isolated- but just letting you know. After this, both POVs should be on the same timeline.**

**Third of all- I had a lot of trouble with this chapter, so I decided to cut it short. It's filler- but that necessary, bridge, plot-building filler. Sorry but thanks for reading anyways!**

"Why are we meeting here?" Sansa asks. The night before, Sandor had sent her a short email, telling her where and when to meet him. The address took her straight to an abandoned warehouse. The only thing marking the location was Sandor's motorcycle parked outside.

"Wouldn't want Joffrey to show up at your apartment and find us, would you?" Sandor looks up at Sansa from a crouching position on the ground. He's pulling some old, dusty mats across the floor.

"No. I suppose not." Sansa watches as Sandor continues to set up the room. His muscles strain as he pulls the thick, plastic mats into position. "Do you need any help with those?"

"No."

"All right." Sansa opens her gym bag and pulls out a bottle of cold Fiji water. She unscrews the lid and takes a long sip, still watching Sandor out of the corner of her eye. The left side of his face is scarred. The scars are long and deep, but they have faded and sunk into his face like part of the natural texture. His long dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail, exaggerating the sharpness of his face. Tattoos run down the length of his thick, exposed arms.

It only takes Sandor a few minutes to pull all the mats into the center of the room. He works silently. The building is humid, and a few beads of sweat roll down the back of his neck. "Was this an old gym?" Sansa asks.

"Karate studio."

"What happened?"

Sandor grunts in response. "Businesses open and then they close." Sandor kicks the final mat into place. "Come on then," he says.

Sansa tucks the water bottle back into her bag. She reaches up to tighten her ponytail, making sure all the auburn hair is swept off of her neck. "I hope I'm dressed all right," she says as she approaches the mats and stands before Sandor.

"You could wear a fucking dress for all I care. It's not like you're going to have time for a wardrobe change before Joffrey has a few too many and gives you a good old right hook."

Sansa looks up, surprised. Of course, Sandor saw Joffrey hit her the other night. Of course, she's learning to defend herself so it won't happen again. But she didn't expect Sandor to be so blunt about it. "I didn't mean-" she starts to explain, but stops herself. She doesn't owe anything to Sandor.

"Fists up then."

"What?"

"Fists up." Sandor steps forward, leaving only a small space between himself and Sansa. "Hit me. Anywhere but the face, not that you could reach it."

Sansa looks up. She's tall, but her head still barely reaches Sandor's shoulders. "Hit you? Won't that hurt?"

Sandor laughs. It sounds like a rough bark, and the sides of his lips curl into a half-smile. "If you could hurt me, we wouldn't be here."

"I suppose that's true."

"Get on with it then. I don't have all day."

"All right." Sansa curls her hands into tight fists. She's never punched someone before. She's never even _slapped _someone before except for the one time that Arya stole all of Sansa's bras and hung them out the windows. _Arya_. _Arya wouldn't hesitate_, Sansa thinks. _She wouldn't think. She would just hit. _

Sansa lifts her fists, takes a short step forward, and punches Sandor as hard as she can in his chest. She backs away immediately, rubbing her fist. She lifts her eyes expecting to find Sandor grimacing or at least wincing, but he's only standing there with a bored expression on his face.

"Again," he grunts.

"What?"

"Again. Harder. Try putting some weight into it."

"I _did_." And Sansa thought she had put weight into it, but apparently her punch was no more than a fleabite to Sandor. "Fine," she mutters. "Again."

The second time she punches Sandor, she lets out a gasp of her own. Punching Sandor's stomach is like punching a brick wall. She flexes her fingers and is about to ask for help when Sandor says, "Again."

So she punches him. Again. And again. After about twenty tries, her knuckles are red and Sandor is looking more and more bored.

"I don't think I'm doing this right," Sansa finally says.

"No. You're not."

Sansa looks up, her eyes flashing with sudden irritation. "You could have mentioned that before the last twenty punches," she says. "Why bother coming out here if you're just going to stand here and watch me make a fool of myself? What's the point?"

"The point is that now you're angry."

"No. I'm not." But she _is_. She is angry. At Sandor for making a fool of her. At Joffrey for abusing her. At her sister for putting herself in danger every day. At herself for not being strong enough to protect her family.

"You look angry."

"I'm not-"

"It's a good thing, Sansa." It's the first time she's heard Sandor say her name. Something about the way it rolls off his rasping tongue makes her shiver. "Being angry is a good thing." His dark eyes are staring at her. She can feel anger, no, _power _in his gaze.

"Why's that?"

"You can fight whenever you want, but you can't win unless you're angry. You can't win unless you believe in what you're fighting for. And you can't lose if you truly despise what you're fighting against."

_What did you fight against? _Sansa wants to ask Sandor the same, single question that has been wandering around her mind since the day they met, and yet she can't ask it. She can't ask where his scars are from. Maybe because it's his business, his life. Maybe because she's scared to hear the answer.

But Sansa knows one thing- whatever gave Sandor those scars must have turned him into the man he is today.

She looks up. "So what do I do?"

"You relax. You square your shoulders. You make sure each muscle, each tendon, each bone is connected into the same force. You clear your head. You funnel that anger into a one-way stream. And then you strike."

* * *

"I'm picking you up in ten minutes," Margaery says. She clicks off the phone before Sansa has a chance to respond.

It's almost ten in the morning. Usually, Sansa would be at work by now, but instead she's in the bathtub. Joffrey insisted that she take a leave of absence until the wedding. He insisted that she needed her beauty rest so that she wouldn't look like a _run-down haggard mess _on their cherished day.

But instead of resting and working on the wedding, Sansa has been spending the last few days at the gym, either with or without Sandor. Instead of picking out flower arrangements, she's been lifting weights morning and night. Instead of dieting for her wedding dress, she's been running five miles a day.

Her first session with Sandor made her realize how weak she really was, and not just physically. She can't stand up to Joffrey if she doesn't _believe _she has the strength to stand up to him. And while she'll continue to play Joffrey's twisted little game to protect her family, she knows the charade can't last forever.

Eventually she'll have to face him.

Sansa massages her sore muscles, letting the warm water soak over her for a few more minutes before climbing out of the tub. She tugs on her soft bathrobe and takes a comb through her auburn hair. There are mirrors all over her bathroom, and everywhere she turns, she sees a pretty, porcelain face.

She's attractive. That's true. But sometimes she wishes she were ugly. Joffrey wouldn't want her if she were ugly. She wouldn't be here in the first place if she were ugly.

"A beautiful daughter." That's what everyone has called her ever since she was a little girl. Never smart or cunning or interesting. Just beautiful and polite. Robb was the strong one. Arya the sneaky one. Bran the smart one.

They all had their titles, and yet, Sansa felt as if hers never quite fit.

The doorbell rings, and Sansa calls out, "One minute, Margaery!" She heads into her room and quickly throws on a pair of linen shorts and a light blue blouse.

When she finally opens the door, Margaery is standing there with a giant notebook in her hands. She looks up at Sansa with annoyed, brown eyes. "You know," she says, "It's very difficult to be maid of honor when the bride won't tell me what to do. I've been having to boss myself around all week, and that just doesn't make any sense."

"I'm sorry, Margaery. I've been busy."

"Busy doing what? Painting your toenails? Loras told me that you were on leave from work until the wedding."

"How's he like the new job?" Joffrey not only hired Loras after their dinner together, but he promoted him to a high position.

"Don't change the subject on me." Margaery points a finger in Sansa's face. "Now grab your purse, pull back that soaking wet hair, and let's get going. This wedding isn't going to plan itself. Now, I know you and Joffrey aren't exactly two lovebirds in a nest right now, but if you can't have a perfect husband, at least you can have a perfect wedding. So come on. Let's get going."

Half an hour later, Sansa is sitting in a bakery with fifteen tiny slices of cake in front of her. "Try this one," Margaery says, sliding a piece of cake across the table. "It's butter-cream with almond chocolate frosting."

Sansa dips her fork into the fluffy cake and takes a small bite. It's delicious, light and sweet.

"What do you think?" Margaery asks.

Sansa manages a small smile. "Not bad, I suppose." Every cake in the store is mouthwatering, but Sansa doesn't want a single one of them. How is she supposed to pick out a cake to symbolize her love for Joffrey when there is no love to speak of?

"Not bad? Are you sure your taste buds are working? Try it again." Margaery pauses and narrows her eyes. "You're not pregnant, are you? Because I heard pregnancy can really mess with your sense of taste."

"No, I'm not pregnant!" Sansa says in a tight whisper.

"Don't look at me like that. Setting the date for the wedding with only a month to spare. You can't blame me for jumping to conclusions." Margaery lowers her voice and leans over the table. "It's just that, well, you don't seem very happy about this marriage. And I know that Joffrey isn't exactly Prince Charming, despite the fortune, so I can't help but wonder why you're marrying him if you seem so unhappy about it. The only thing that made sense was, well, a baby."

_You have to have sex to make a baby_, Sansa thinks. She's found a reason to stay out of Joffrey's bed for over a month now, and Joffrey doesn't seem to mind. _I wouldn't be surprised if he had a woman on the side. Or women._

Sansa puts down her fork. "I'm not pregnant, Margaery. I hope you haven't been spreading that idea around either."

"Of course not. I'm your friend, Sansa. I'm just trying to look out for you."

"I appreciate that."

"But then-" Margaery looks up, brown eyes concerned, "why are you marrying him? You're obviously not happy, and you don't care about the money."

Sansa takes a sip of her water. "It's complicated."

"People tell me I'm very smart, so I think I can handle complicated."

"Well maybe I can't!" Sansa snaps and then immediately lifts a hand to her mouth, embarrassed by her outburst. "I'm sorry," she says, her cheeks blushing red. "I just. I should go. I really don't have time for all of this. Why don't you pick out the cake and-" Sansa starts to stand up and head out the door, but Margaery grabs her by the arm.

"Not so fast," Margaery says. "Calm down, Sansa. I'm your friend. I'm just trying to help you. Let me help you."

"You don't understand," Sansa says. Her hands are shaking, so she clasps them tightly around her purse. "It's complicated, and you don't understand."

"Well then why don't you help me understand?" Margaery guides Sansa by the arm, out of the cake shop, and onto the sidewalk outside. "Help me understand what's wrong. You can trust me."

_But can I? _Sansa and Margaery have been close friends for months now, but how far does that friendship go? Her brother works for Joffrey. Why would Margaery want to work against her own family? And would she even believe Sansa if she were told the truth?

Sansa looks up to find Margaery staring her down with dark, compassionate eyes. "You can trust me," Margaery repeats. "Whatever is wrong, you shouldn't have to deal with it alone. So trust me. Please."

And how_ can _Sansa fight Joffrey alone? Arya is next to useless as long as she continues to race anonymously. She hasn't spoken a word to Jon for years. Sandor might be a decent coach, but would he ever fight _for _her?

How can Sansa expect to stand up to Joffrey, to Robert, to Jaime, to Cersei, to all of them without a little help?

"All right," Sansa finally says. "I trust you."

**A/N ****– This chapter was a STRUGGLE. I'm sorry. It's not very quality, and I know it, but it had to be published so that the story can move on to better things. **

**Next chapter will be back to Arya x Gendry, and I promise to get that out very quickly (as in hopefully the next day or two). **

**As always, thank you for reading and reviewing!**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N-****I told you I'd have the next chapter up quickly as an apology for the not-so-great previous chapter. Enjoy!**

"Classes are great," Arya says. "I do have this one professor who talks in this really, low, monotone voice, so he's kind of boring, but it's not a big deal."

"What about dorm life? Don't you miss your own bed?" Arya's mom asks.

Arya looks down. She's in Gendry's bed, wearing a pair of old cotton shorts and a tank top. Gendry is next to her, lounged out on his side, long arms tucked under his head. He's staring at her as she talks on the phone, and Arya smiles as she answers the question. "Not really. The dorm beds are _very _comfortable."

Last night, after their impromptu, well, tongue wrestling, Gendry had insisted that Arya sleep at his apartment again. He argued that she couldn't afford a motel until she won a race. And for once he was right, so she agreed. They didn't _do _anything except for kiss, but she did wake up in his arms again, with his warm chest pressed against her back, with his light breath tickling her neck.

And she had thought, _I could get used to this_, before quickly trying to push the feeling away.

"That's great," her mom continues. "What about the food? I hope it isn't too terrible."

"It's fine. I really like the-" Arya suddenly gasps as Gendry snakes one of his hands underneath her tank top. His fingers brush against the small patch of exposed skin. Arya's belly fills with warmth, but she narrows her eyes and swats Gendry away with her free hand. "Stop it!" She mouths, covering the speaker of the phone.

Gendry smiles, arrogant blue eyes twinkling. "Why?" He mouths back.

Arya hits him again, this time with the bottom of her foot, but Gendry doesn't budge. "What was that, sweetie?" Her mom asks.

"I was saying that I really like the garlic-" Gendry is now leaning over, hovering above Arya. He dips down and lightly sweeps his lips against her neck. He kisses the skin once, twice, before placing his hand back onto her bare stomach, fingers slowly trailing upwards. "Chicken." Arya says, her face flushed. Half of her wants to punch Gendry in the face, and half of her hopes he'll never stop touching her. "The garlic chicken," Arya repeats. "Really good."

"Hmm."

"Look, mom. I've got to go. I-"

"Wait just a second. I need to tell you something."

Gendry is now tracing his other hand along bare leg, and Arya shivers. Desire floods through her. _What the hell is wrong with this man, and how does he get me to react like this? _

"What is it mom?" Arya asks, hoping to get off the phone as quickly as possible so that she can deal with the very impatient mechanic in bed with her.

"We're planning a visit at the end of the month, so I-"

"You're what?!" Arya sits up suddenly and shoves Gendry off of her. Not expecting the push, Gendry falls halfway across the bed. He looks up at Arya, confused, but she waves him off.

"We're coming to visit! Bran wants to look at the University, and I haven't seen Sansa for so long now. It took awhile to convince your dad. Obviously, you know, San Diego isn't his favorite place in the world, but I told him it'd be worth it to see his children, and he agreed."

"But-" Arya's thoughts are spinning. They can't come visit! What happens when they want to see her dorm room? Or her new friends? Oh god. What if they accidently meet Gendry? That'll be the end of that. There's no way Arya's father will approve of a 24-year-old mechanic. "But why would Bran want to come here? Shouldn't he be looking at Harvard or Yale or whatever other colleges people attend with 4.3 GPAs and 1590 SAT scores?"

"Honey, you know that with your father losing his job, things are tight right now, and some of these schools might be willing to offer Bran a lot of money to attend them. He needs to consider his options just like you did."

Guilt gnaws at Arya's stomach. She didn't really consider her options, did she? She didn't really consider college at all. All throughout her senior year of high school, she knew her plan, and her plan was to deceive her parents, drive out to San Diego, and start racing. She didn't consider her options. She just went with her gut. _And was it the right decision? _She glances at Gendry who is now sitting on the edge of the bed, looking concerned. _Was it?_

She came out here to be the best. To be faster. Stronger. And instead of spending every second of every day practicing, she's been wasting her mornings lounging in the bed with some man. _Oh all right, not just some man. He's obviously more than that, but he's still a distraction, a reason to not work harder. A reason to ignore her goals. _

"Are you still there, Arya?" Her mom asks.

Arya looks down at the comforter, breaking her eye contact with Gendry. "Yeah, I'm still here," she says softly. "I'm sorry. I'm just so busy, and I don't know if I'll have time to see you guys."

"What are you talking about? You'll make time. We're your family, Arya."

_I know! _She wants to scream. _I know I've been selfish. And terrible. I know you're my family. And I know you love me. But I need to do this for myself. I need to be selfish and prove to myself that I can do things on my own. _

"All right. Send me the dates, and I'll figure it out."

"I love you, Arya." Her mom sounds concerned, but thankfully she doesn't push it.

"I love you too."

Arya ends the call and looks up at Gendry. He moves forward on the bed so that he can grab one of her hands. "What is it?" He asks. "What's wrong?"

Arya pulls her hand away and runs it through her short, tangled hair. "Family stuff," she mutters. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Yes, that makes sense. I'll just ignore the ridiculously stressed and distraught look on your face. What would you like for breakfast?" Gendry's sarcasm manages to be light and sharp at the same time, and Arya narrows her eyes in annoyance.

"Look. I said don't worry about it, and I mean it. Just drop it."

"Did I hear something about your family coming to visit?"

"Gendry. Drop it." The lighthearted mood has melted from the room. Minutes ago, they were lounging in bed, teasing each other, _touching _each other, and now the moment is gone. It's one of the many reasons Arya shouldn't be involving herself with Gendry. She has enough to stress about without having to think about their _relationship _on top of it.

Gendry's blue eyes flicker over Arya's face, obvious concern in his expression. He goes to take her hand again, but then hesitates and retreats. Arya wants the warmth of his touch as much as she wants to push him away.

She sighs softly and tucks her messy hair behind her ears. "Look. I really need to head out anyways. I've got to practice before the race tonight."

"But are we all right?" Gendry asks.

What are _we_? Arya wants to retort. Their relationship is a tangle of feelings and half-truths. But as frustrating, as distracting, as the relationship is, Arya can't just throw it away. So instead she'll tuck it into a corner and hope that it takes care of itself.

"We're fine," she responds. She leans forward over the bed and kisses Gendry lightly on his stubbled cheek. "I'll see you at the race tonight, right?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world. Maybe for a Aston Martin One-77, but definitely not for the world."

* * *

"Extra whipped cream," Arya tells the barista. "No, like extra, extra." Arya watches as the barista piles whipped cream onto her cup of dark hot chocolate. Once finished, Arya grabs the cup and heads back to her table where Sansa is waiting.

Sansa makes a disgusted face. "How can you drink something that _sweet_? And that hot? You do realize that it's like eighty degrees outside, right?"

"Tastes like home," Arya says, licking off some of the whipped cream. "You know how dad used to make it. Except they don't have any of those tiny marshmallows."

"No, Starbucks tends not to serve tiny marshmallows."

Arya watches her sister as she takes a sip of her own iced coffee. She looks different. Her hair is the same. Her clothes are the same, but there's definitely something different about her. A sort of fierceness her older sister never had before.

"So what's up?" Arya asks. "Not that I don't like seeing you, but I really need to get ready for the race tonight." Almost immediately after leaving Gendry's apartment, Sansa had called, asking if Arya had time to get coffee. She had sounded pretty worried.

Sansa sighs. "I never thought 'what's up' would sound like such a loaded question, but it is, isn't it?"

"I guess so." Arya shifts in her seat, adjusting her legs so that's she can sit Indian-style. Sensing that Sansa isn't ready to talk yet, Arya says, "Mom called this morning."

"Yeah. What did she want?"

"She's coming up here in a month. All of them are."

"For the wedding?"

Arya's stomach twists with guilt. She had completely forgotten about Sansa's upcoming _wedding_. If you could call it a wedding. Sansa broke the news to her a couple nights ago. "No. Does mom know about the wedding? Bran's just coming up to visit schools."

"She doesn't know. I thought maybe you had told her or that word had gotten out. I haven't told anyone, really. It just seems too strange to plan a wedding that I pray to god will never happen."

"You don't _have _to marry, Joffrey. You know that, right?" Arya crosses her arms. "In fact, you should most definitely not marry Joffrey."

"I know," Sansa says. "And that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I need your help."

Despite herself, Arya glances down at her watch. It's getting late, and she should really be practicing right now if she wants to win tonight. The selfish impulse angers her. _Sansa. She's your sister, a person with feelings, not a car or a race, _Arya reminds herself. "Help with what?" Arya asks, hoping she sounds sincere.

"I want to take down Joffrey. I want to take down all of the Baratheons. And the Lannisters. I want to wipe their scum off the bottoms of my shoes." And there it is, the fierceness that has been bubbling in Sansa all along.

"But how do we do that? I can't exactly just beat them all up, not that I wouldn't love trying."

"No, of course not. That wouldn't solve anything anyways. It would just make things worse."

Arya smiles. "Yeah, but it would feel really good. What's the point of learning to fight if you won't throw a punch every now and then?"

"The fighting is for defense, not offence."

"Now you sound like a soccer coach."

"Arya, can we please get back to the point?" Sansa asks, exasperated.

"Right. Sure. Of course." Arya takes another sip of her hot chocolate. "You want to take down the Baratheons. How?"

"Inside information."

"As in?"

"Dad was fired on unsustainable grounds."

"You mean, grounds of bullshit?"

"Same thing." Sansa leans forward, eyes filled with intensity. "He was fired, and Baratheon Corporations has absolutely no reasoning, no paperwork to explain his dismissal. Obviously he was either fired for something personal or because he discovered something that could jeopardize the company."

"That's a pretty big assumption to make, Sansa."

"I don't think it is. _And_, if I can get inside the files, maybe I can find something that absolves dad of guilt. And then Joffrey won't be able to hold this over me, over _us_, any longer."

"I don't know," Arya says. "It sounds risky, and who knows if it will even work? Why would they just leave proof of their douchebaggery lying around the office?"

Sansa looks up, blue eyes flashing with determination. "I don't know, Arya, but it's worth a try, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess so. But what do you need my help with? I can't exactly just waltz into Baratheon Corporations and go snooping around, can I?"

"Of course you can't. I'll be handling all of that. Don't worry about it. I just need you to keep Joffrey distracted. Rile him up. Mess with his head at the races. The more time he spends concerned about that circuit, the less time he has to watch my every step."

"But won't that make him mad?" Arya asks. "I don't want him hurting you again, Sansa. Not even if it means giving us a chance to redeem our family."

Sansa smiles. It's a different smile. Cruel, self-assured, intense. Almost like a snarl. "He won't hurt me again. You can be sure of that."

* * *

"I can't believe I have to race against you," Arya mutters. She's sitting on the hood of her car, and Jon is standing in front of her. They have a few minutes before the race starts, and the crowds, larger than ever, have already gathered on the side of the road.

"Why? Scared I'll beat you?" Jon asks, smiling.

"No, just scared you'll never speak to me again when _I _beat _you_."

"That's not going to happen."

"If you were smart, you'd bet on me. You wouldn't want to lose the race and the money, now would you?"

"That cocky mouth of yours isn't going to make your car go faster."

Arya smirks. "You sure about that?"

Jon suddenly glances to the side, the playfulness disappearing from his expression. Joffrey is approaching them with quick, short strides. _He looks ridiculous_, Arya thinks, distaste rising within her. He's wearing a suit and tie. At a _racing circuit. _

"Nice outfit," she says, not being able to contain herself. She jumps off the hood of her car so that she can stand before Joffrey. "The color of your suit goes really nicely with the burnt tire marks and the chewing tobacco on the ground."

Joffrey sneers at her. "I had a business arrangement earlier, and I didn't have time to change. Not that I need to explain myself to you."

"Did you knot that tie all by yourself?"

This time Joffrey ignores her. Instead, he turns to Jon. "I see you've made an acquaintance with our new driver. A true gem, wouldn't you say? If only she would take off that cap so that we could see her ugly mug."

Jon shrugs his shoulders, obviously trying his best not to get into the middle of things.

Arya thinks about what Sansa told her just hours ago. Rile him up. Distract him. Annoy him. Annoying people is something Arya has been great at since she was just a little girl. "Not racing, tonight?" Arya asks Joffrey.

"No."

"Why not? Scared?" From the corner of her eye, Arya can see that Jon is giving her a warning look. Since she hasn't told him about Sansa's plan, he has no clue as to why she's provoking Joffrey. "You got lucky last time, but don't think for a second that I'd let that happen again," Arya continues, pleased to see that Joffrey is already fuming.

"It wasn't luck. It was talent. Something I'm sure you've never heard of."

"If you're so talented, than why was I beating you by over a car-length until I hit that stupid ditch?"

"Strategy," Joffrey says. "Again, something I'm sure you've never heard of."

"So you think you could beat me again?"

"Not think. I _know_. Because I'm a driver, a racer, and you're just a-"

"Puny little girl? Yeah, I know. I've heard it before. Well, if you're so confident, why don't we make a little bet? In two days, we race each other. Just each other. No crowd. No cameras. Just us, the road, and a judge. Then we'll see who's better."

Arya bites back her smile, pleased by how she's so easily pushed Joffrey into a corner. He has to take the bet. If he doesn't, he's a coward. But at the same time, he knows how good Arya is. He knows she almost beat him the other night. He knows she threw the race.

But what he doesn't know is _who _she is or _why _she has it out for him. And that is all to her advantage.

"Fine," Joffrey finally snarls. "Two nights from now. Cajon Cross. We'll each bring one witness."

"Great," Arya says, smiling under the brim of her hat. She loves how uncomfortable Joffrey is, how desperately he's trying to assume confidence. She loves that she can finally do something useful to help her family. She loves making him squirm. "Now if you don't mind," Arya continues. "I have another race to win."

She reaches into the pocket of her jeans and pulls out $300. It's the last of her money without having to dip into her dangerously low bank account. She hands over the thick pile of cash to Joffrey. "Three-hundred," she says, "On my name for winning tonight. I trust that you can put this into the right hands."

"Of course," Joffrey says, his voice coated with annoyance.

"What are my odds, by the way?"

Joffrey looks up at her, eyes hard and cold. "For Cat of El Cajon? Ten to one."

Arya smiles. "Perfect. I could use the money."

"You realize those odds are against you, correct? You were educated in rudimentary math, weren't you?"

"Math doesn't drive my car. I do. And I say that I'm coming out winning tonight. Enjoy the show, Joffrey." And with that, Arya smiles once more, tugs down her cap, and gets ready to race.

**A/N ****– Thank you to Heliotropa & Harwins for making wonderful fan art for this story. You guys can check it out through my profile page or my tumblr ( ) **

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I have a question for everyone- how do you feel about the San/San relationship? I'm struggling on whether or not to make it romantic, non-romantic, or borderline. Please let me know if you have any thoughts.**

**As always, thank you for reading and reviewing!**


	17. Chapter 17

"Fuck!" Arya says. She opens the side compartment, the overhead panel, checks under the seats, but she can't find her racing gloves anywhere. "Fuck, fuck," she mutters. All the cars are in line, engines running. The whistle is going to sound any second, but Arya can't race without her gloves.

"Come on. Where are they?" Arya unbuckles and reaches over the back of her seat, hands patting down the black carpet, only finding fast food bags, crumbs, and old receipts. Windows cracked, Arya can hear the crowd outside, nervous, excited chatter streaming into her car.

Her hand sweeps over a wad of fabric and, "Yes!" She tugs the gloves from a tight spot between her seat and the car door. Arya shakes them out and then slides the supple leather onto her hands. As she finishes pulling on the second glove, a light flashes, and the whistle blows.

The cars next to her shoot off down the road. Arya grabs her stick shift, pulls the car into first, and guns the gas. "Fuck!" She screams one more time. How could she be so stupid? She just lost seconds on the start; there's almost no way she'll be able to make that time up now. And all for a pair of gloves.

Her father gave her the gloves on her fifteenth birthday, the day she got her driver's permit. Her mother had narrowed her eyes and asked, "Why does Arya need racing gloves, Ned? You know that's not allowed in this family anymore. Not after Bran."

But her father just shrugged his shoulders and said, "Their just gloves."

And they were just gloves. But they were also her lucky gloves. Her favorite gloves. She won her first race with those gloves, and ever since then, Arya has refused to compete without them.

"Come on," Arya says, snapping back to the present. She continues to shift gears as her speed increases, wind whipping through her windows. The hound, Jon, and Loras are all at least four car lengths ahead of her. There's an opening on the left side, but will she have enough speed to take it?

Faster and faster. The car accelerates, and for the second time, Arya wonders what Gendry did the last time he worked on it. Her car has never run this smooth, this fast, despite the wear and tear she's been causing it lately.

Jon pulls away from the pack, surging forward by half a car length and leaving the hound and Loras side by side. Instead of separating, the two cars converge, playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse. The hound merges closer and closer until his side view mirror grazes against the side of Loras' car. The sound of screeching metal breaks through the wind, and alarmed, Loras falters, dives to the side, and loses speed in the process.

"Perfect," Arya says, smiling to herself. She slams her foot on the gas and surges forward, passing Loras and quickly finding herself neck and neck with the hound. "Thanks for the opening," she calls out her window, but she doubts Sandor can hear her.

Outside zooms by in a blur of dust and stars. Arya only looks forward, eyes trained on Jon's car. "Mess up, come on, fuck it up," she says, praying Jon will make a mistake even though he _never _makes mistakes. It's not that she wants him to lose; it's just the _she _wants to win. She needs to win.

She's still neck and neck with the hound, but Loras is coming up from behind, and from a glance in her rearview mirror, Arya can tell that he's pissed off. The hound bullied him out of the race, and Loras isn't going to let him get away with it. _All the better for me_, Arya thinks_, let those two idiots work it out, and I'll deal with Jon. _

Just as she predicted, Sandor loses speed as Loras starts to trail behind him. Arya pushes forward into second place, but there's only a small stretch of road left. Will it give her enough time to overtake Jon? He's still half a car length ahead of her. She could play it dirty, blare her horn or flash her brights, but that's not her style. Winning isn't satisfying if you cheat yourself into first place.

"A little faster. You can do it," Arya's foot is pressed all the way down, pedal against the floor. The body of the car is shaking under the exertion, and Arya has to grip her wheel with white knuckles to keep it from turning to the side. Slowly, she catches up to Jon, inch by inch. It seems that her car runs just a little bit faster than his, but he had the head start, and he hasn't faltered once for the entire race.

As the finish line emerges, fresh white paint against the dark black road, Arya takes a sharp breath, leans forward, and shoots her car forward, straight as an arrow.

But it's not enough.

Jon beats her, only by a few inches, but he beats her. His car screeches to a halt, and she brakes hard and fast so she won't crash into him. Sandor finishes close behind with Loras in last, a scowl on his pretty face.

"Fuck!" Arya says, slamming her steering wheel with a closed fist. She accidently hits the horn, and the sound blares loudly in the open night. Her cheeks flame with embarrassment. Not only did she lose the race, but now she's also acting like a fucking immature idiot. _Get it together, _she tells herself.

She steps out of the car, being careful not to slam the door shut behind her. Jon walks up to her, his mouth quirked into a smug smile, his arms wrapped around his lean chest. He laughs when he sees Arya's enraged face.

"I told you not to get too cocky," he says.

Arya narrows her eyes. "It's wasn't_ my _fault. I couldn't find my gloves."

"Unless gremlins hid them, it sounds like it was entirely your fault." Jon holds out a hand for Arya to shake, and she begrudgingly takes it. "Good race though. If you had started on time, you might have even won."

"I would have won. And I'll win next time. You just got lucky."

"We both know luck has nothing to do with it. And stop being so grumpy. You still got second place. Not bad for your second time out here."

"Third time," Arya corrects. "Kind of. If you count the race I crashed. At least I _won _that one."

"And you'll win another one. Eventually. Just maybe not while I'm around."

"You're an arrogant idiot."

Jon shrugs his shoulders, still smiling. "Call me what you want. You still lost. I'll see you around, Arya."

"Don't call me that!" Arya's pulse starts racing, she turns around, making sure no one is near them. Thankfully, the hound and Loras are back at the tent with an enraged Joffrey. "Joffrey can't know who I am. No one can know who I am. Don't forget it."

"Right. Sorry."

"Also," Arya says, stepping forward and lowering her voice. "There's something else I need to talk to you about."

"What is it?"

"It's about Sansa. And Joffrey. And the whole family actually."

Jon's smile disappears, and his face takes on a guarded expression. "I haven't talked to our family for a long time. Not for years except for you and Robb."

"I know, but this is important. Can I come over tomorrow sometime and fill you in?"

Jon pauses, hesitant, before answering, "Sure."

"Okay, great. I'll see you then." Arya starts to leave, but she turns around one more time. "Oh, and Jon?"

"What?"

"I will beat you next time. I can promise you that."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

Arya squares her jaw. "I don't."

* * *

"I'm so screwed," Arya says as she paces the floor of Gendry's bedroom. "I needed that money. What the hell am I going to do now?"

"You can stay here."

"I know that." Arya stops pacing and turns to face Gendry. "I mean, thank you for your, uh, hospitality."

Gendry laughs. "Watching you trying to be polite is like watching a cat try to swim."

"Fine. In that case, I just won't try." She starts pacing again. "The point is, I need money. It's great that I can stay here, but I can't just shack up with you forever, and I still need food, clothes, gas, you know, the necessities of life. I just don't know what to do."

"You could get a job."

"A job?"

"Don't sound so stunned. A lot of people have jobs. _I _have a job."

"Jon doesn't have a job."

"That's because Jon wins his races."

Arya narrows her eyes. "You're stepping into dangerous territory, Gendry Waters. I'm already angry. Don't make it worse.

"You're not the hulk, _Arya_. Despite what you think, you aren't very intimidating."

"No?" Arya raises an eyebrow.

"No."

"We'll see about that." Arya rushes forward and jumps onto the bed, landing right on top of Gendry with her full body weight. He lets out a gasp, but Arya ignores him. She straddles his waist and grabs his arms, pining them behind him. "I'm stronger than I look," Arya says, smiling.

"No you're not."

"Admit it, and I'll let you go."

"You'll _let _me go?" Gendry starts laughing. His blue eyes are light and amused.

Arya, slightly confused by his laughter, continues, "Yes, I'll let you go." She tightens her grip on his wrists and presses down further against his body. This only makes Gendry laugh harder. "What's so funny?" She asks.

"The fact that you think you're stronger than me."

"I _am_-"

Before Arya can finish her sentence, Gendry yanks his arms away from her, puts his hands around her small waist, and flips her over so that _she's_ pinned to the bed and _he's_ hovering over her. He smiles arrogantly and uses a free hand to brush Arya's mussed hair out of her face. "It's sweet really. It's like you're a little puppy who thinks she can play with the big dogs."

"Please stop comparing me to animals," Arya mutters.

"I can't help it. You have very animal-like qualities."

"Yeah, well does an animal do this?" Arya lifts her leg and knees Gendry sharply in the stomach. He let's out a groan, but his grip on Arya's arms doesn't loosen.

"Nice try," he says smiling. "Besides, do you really want to escape?" He lowers his body so that it's just barely brushing against Arya's. His head dips down and lips graze across her neck. When he looks up and locks eyes with Arya, her pulse is already racing. "Don't you like it here?" He teases.

"You're an idiot," Arya says, but she can feel herself giving in. It's exhausting to fight with Gendry. At least he can't say anything stupid when they're kissing.

"Yes, I know. You've told me that before." His lips lower again. This time they trail against Arya's collarbone, warm breath against her chest. She squirms beneath him, already impatient for more. Her arms are still pinned against the bed.

"Enough, already," she says. "If you're going to kiss me, just kiss me."

Gendry pauses. He looks up, blue eyes dark and clear. A smile curls at the ends of his mouth. His full lips part, and he says, "All right."

And then he swoops back down and kisses her. His mouth is hot and insistent, and Arya wishes she could use her arms to drag him closer. Instead she leans up and catches his lips in hers, gasping when his tongue slips into her mouth, gasping when his teeth just lightly bite the bottom of her lip.

All the tension from the day, all the stress from the race, it all disappears as their mouths collide again and again. All she can think about is Gendry, how his warm, hard body is pressing her into the bed. How his lips are trailing against her skin, leaving every part of her bothered and flushed. How is arousal is pushing up against the side of her leg as they push their bodies closer and closer together.

"Please," she says, gasping as Gendry suddenly bites the bottom of her earlobe. "Let me use my hands."

Gendry leans down, smiling against her mouth. "Well since you said please."

As soon as Gendry releases her arms, she wraps them around his back, desperately trying to pull him closer. She loves the feeling of his body against her own. She loves it even more without clothing. "Take your shirt off," she commands, hands already tugging at her own top.

"You didn't say please."

Arya finishes with her own shirt, and she can feel the heat of Gendry's gaze sweep over her torso, eyes lingering on the bra that she's already unsnapping. "I said, take your shirt off," Arya repeats.

Gendry licks his lips. Arousal flushes through Arya, hot and strong. She drops her bra as Gendry finally takes his shirt off, and as soon as its discarded on the floor, Arya reaches forward and presses her mouth against his hard chest. They're both kneeling on the bed, so Arya pushes Gendry backwards and slides on top of him, slowly trailing openmouthed kisses against his bare skin.

Gendry groans beneath her, bucking his hips against her own, his desire hard against her body. "Jesus," he moans as Arya licks his nipple. She moves further down, hands following her mouth, massaging and touching every inch of his skin. She can't believe how brazen she's being. Sure, she's been with guys before. But she's never been this _forward. _Something about Gendry makes her throw all caution to the wind.

As she makes her way to his athletic shorts, a wave of embarrassment finally courses through her. There's Gendry. _All _of Gendry. The shorts don't hide much. But Arya pushes away the small amount of discomfort and starts to tug down the elastic waist.

"Wait," Gendry says. His hands, already tangled in Arya's hair, reach down and grab her shoulders.

"What?" She asks.

"Just wait a second, come here." He tugs her arms gently and pulls her up to face him. As soon as she looks at him, she flushes. His eyes are filled with desire.

"What?" She asks again.

"Should we maybe slow down? I don't want to rush you into anything."

"Do you _want_ to slow down?"

"No, but-"

"Good," Arya responds, already sliding back down his body.

Gendry stops her. "Wait."

"You're really killing the mood for me, Gendry."

"I know. I'm sorry. It's just that you're so...young."

Arya's stomach drops. She thought they were past this. She thought Gendry finally saw her as someone older, more mature. "I'm not that young."

"You're six years younger than me, Arya. I just don't want to pressure you into something you're not ready for."

"You're not pressuring me, you idiot. If you recall just moments earlier, _I _was trying to take of _your _pants."

"I just-" Gendry sighs and runs a hand through his messy hair. "I just think we should take things slow for now. I don't want you to do anything that you'll regret."

"The only thing I'm regretting right now is the fact that you managed to engage me in this fucking ridiculous conversation."

"I'm sorry. I just-"

"Don't want to take advantage of me. I get it. That's very fucking noble of you, but in the future, please remember that I make my own decisions, and if I want to stop or if I feel uncomfortable, you'll know it, all right? I'm not some delicate little flower. I'm not some kid. I'm a racer, and I'm eighteen, and I like you, so I don't need you to protect me. Okay?"

Gendry looks at her, blue eyes narrowed, as if trying to see through her. Finally, he relents. "Okay. You're right."

"Thank you." Arya looks down, suddenly very aware that she's completely topless. Gendry notices too, and he smirks when her cheeks turn red. "Well," Arya says. "Now that we've lost the mood entirely, I'd really appreciate it if you could just hand me my bra."

Gendry smirks again, but he hands over her bra and shirt. "No redeeming the mood?" He asks.

"Don't think so. Not now." The stress from the race is already seeping back into her mind. Plus her family. And her lack of money.

"It'll all work out," Gendry says. "You'll get a job, make some money, win some races, quit the job, and everything will be fine."

"I know. I just can't believe I lost the race." Arya gets out of bed and Gendry follows her as she makes her way into the kitchen. Her stomach is growling, even though it's almost three in the morning.

"I meant to ask, what was up with the late start? I've never seen you do that."

"I was just being stupid." Arya turns around and faces Gendry. He's lounging against the kitchen counter. "I couldn't find my racing gloves, and by the time-"

Gendry's face pales. He quickly looks away, but Arya catches something guilty in his expression.

"Gendry," Arya starts. "Do you know why my gloves weren't in their compartment?"

"I, well...uh," Gendry massages the back of his neck and looks at the floor. "You see, when I was working on your car, I took them out and-"

Arya strides forward and punches Gendry hard in the stomach. "Fuck!" He cries, bending over, gasping, hands clutched to his stomach. "Fuck that really hurt!"

"I told you I was strong," Arya counters. She smiles smugly. "Just be glad I can't reach your nose."

**A/N ****– Kind of an abrupt ending- but there wasn't much room for the next section I was planning. Hope you don't mind. School starts tomorrow for me, so I'm not sure how fast updates will be coming. I'll try my best to keep up. **

**As always, thank you for all of the wonderful reviews last chapter! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. I hope you guys liked it. **

**Thank you for reading and reviewing!**


	18. Chapter 18

Arya slept on the couch that night with Nymeria curled beneath her feet. Gendry had asked her and then _told _her to sleep in the bed with him. He even said he forgave her for punching him in the stomach. But that didn't mean she forgave him for misplacing her gloves.

She lost the race because of him. She lost her money. And worst of all, she lost in front of Joffrey after being obnoxiously self-confident. And it was Gendry's fault. He moved her gloves.

And yet, she isn't really mad at him. She _wants _to be mad at him, but the fury isn't there; instead, there's just a mild, simmering resentment bubbling within her.

No- she isn't mad at Gendry. She's mad at herself. She said she wouldn't get involved, wouldn't get attached or distracted to anyone or anything, and yet, Gendry has infiltrated every moment of her life. If they aren't working on her car together, they're in bed. If they aren't at a race, they're splayed out on the couch watching re-runs of _Friends._

It has to stop.

No matter how much Arya enjoys spending time with Gendry, she knows she needs to put distance between them. She doesn't have time for a relationship. Especially since now she needs a job, and Sansa has decided to take down the entire Baratheon family.

It has to stop. But will Arya really be able to pull away?

* * *

"Previous work experience?" The manager of Burrito Bonanza chews on the end of her pen as she thumbs through Arya's application. There's a blob of guacamole on her polo shirt and half a tortilla chip stuck in her thick, curly hair.

"I don't have any, but I'm a fast learner," Arya says. She looks around the restaurant, taking in the long lines and tables of dirty dishes. "And it looks like you guys could really use an extra hand."

"I don't like hiring newbies. They usually show up late if they show up at all, and it takes too long to train them."

"Like I said, I'm a fast learner. And I'm very punctual." Arya grits her teeth, trying her best to smile. _I can't believe I have to try this hard to get a job at a place like this. They should be begging people to work here. _

"I don't know..." The manager continues to chew on the end of the pen as she looks Arya up and down with a skeptical eye. "How old are you anyways? You have to be at least sixteen-"

"I'm eighteen."

"Really?"

"Yes, really." Arya crosses her arms. "Would you like to see my identification?"

The manager waves her hand in dismissal. "What about transportation? Do you have a way to get here every day?"

Finally, Arya manages to really smile. "Yes, I have a car."

"Well that's good at least." The manager finally drops the pen on her clipboard and offers Arya her hand. "All right, I'm Rhonda. We'll hire you for today, and if it works out, I'll put you on the week's schedule. Sound good?"

Arya shakes her hand. "Yup. Where do I start?"

Rhonda turns around and screams towards the back of the kitchen. "Hot Pie! Get out here!"

_Hot Pie_? A short, round, full-faced boy emerges from the kitchen. He must be around Arya's age. There's a dirty apron tied around his waist, and he has a long, sharp knife in his right hand. "What's up?" He asks.

"This is Arya. New girl. Show her the ropes because I don't have time."

"Sure thing, Ron."

"It's Rhonda."

"Sure thing, Ron." Hot Pie grins before motioning to Arya. "Come on new girl."

* * *

"You smell disgusting," Jon says as soon as Arya walks into his apartment.

"Can I use your shower? And maybe crash here for the night?" Arya asks, already heading back towards the bathroom.

"Aren't you staying at the motel?"

Arya almost laughs out loud. She's been sleeping at Gendry's place for the past week now, but of course, Jon doesn't know that. He would kill Gendry if he knew that. "I was late on the bill," Arya responds. "And that's why I smell like a fucking dead animal- I had to get a job today."

"A job? Are you really that low on money?"

Arya shrugs her shoulders. She doesn't want to ask Jon for help. Not after he made it clear that she shouldn't have come to San Diego in the first place. "It's fine. I just need to stay here for a night. Nymeria could use the company anyways. She misses Shaggydog and Summer."

"Sure." Jon runs a hand through his hair. "No problem. Towels are in the bathroom."

"Thanks."

After her shower, Arya throws on a tank top and a pair of sweatpants. She finds Jon in the small kitchen with Nymeria and Ghost by his feet. The two dogs perk up their heads when Arya walks into the room, and Nymeria wags her tail with a few, small thumps. "Come on," Arya says, "Let's take them for a walk."

It's warm outside. Even though the sun set hours ago, Arya can still feel the heat rising from the dark, paved streets. Jon leads them down a few blocks towards a small patch of sparse woods. Ghost, familiar with the area, roams forward, and Nymeria follows quickly behind.

"So," Arya says. She grabs a tiny branch from a tree and snaps it off, swishing it in the air as she walks. "We need to talk."

"About the family."

"Yes."

"Arya," Jon says, his voice filled with trepidation. "I told you, I haven't talked to most of our family for years now. I'm not sure I should really get involved in anything."

"Just because mom aban-" Arya pauses, thinking carefully about her words, "Just because you and mom haven't been able to get over what happened in the past, it doesn't mean that you aren't part of this family. We all love you, and I think if you just tried, if you just put more of an effort forward-"

Jon laughs harshly. "You think I didn't try, Arya? You think I just _let _mom kick me out and then I _decided_ to disappear for six years? I tried. And every time I tried to get in touch with Bran or Rickon or you or even Sansa, mom shot me down. She didn't want me to be a part of the family anymore. She thought I was dangerous. She thought I would damage another one of her precious children."

"I didn't realize-" Arya cuts off, suddenly remembering the phone calls answered with hushed voices and a locked door, the ripped up letters in the trash, and the one time...

"You tried to visit us, didn't you?" A memory, a flash of a dark car, a slammed door. "It was a year after you left. I had just gotten home from school, and mom was outside talking to someone in a car I didn't recognize- she was screaming, and when she saw me, she slammed the car door, and the car sped off..." Arya furrows her brow. "I didn't even ask. I just assumed it wasn't my business, but it was you, wasn't it? You were trying to come home?"

Jon bows his head. Arya wants to reach forward, to comfort him, but she decides its best to let him have his space. "She wouldn't let me come home. She wouldn't even let me see you guys."

Arya shakes her head, bile rising in the back of her throat. It's too unfair. She can't believe her mother could be that horrible. "That bitch," Arya spits out.

"Don't say that," Jon says quickly. "I mean it. She's not a bitch- she's just- she had to blame someone. Bran got hurt, and we all know he's her favorite, and she had to blame someone. But she loves all of you, and she cares for all of you, so don't call her that."

"But how can she treat you like this? You're her _son_!"

"I don't know, Arya, but it doesn't matter now. I'm a grown man, and I can take care of myself."

"But you shouldn't have to. Maybe- maybe now that time has passed, you can try again. Or I could set something up so you could at least see the boys. You're their family, Jon, and that's more important than anything."

"Is it?" The uncertainty in Jon's voice stirs something within Arya, like it's just hit her how terrible, how unmerited his later childhood was.

"Of course, it is. And that's what I wanted to talk to you about. Sansa needs our help. And she's family, so we're going to do everything we can to help her. All right?"

Jon stops walking and leans against a tree. The low-hanging branches hood his eyes. "It's not my business."

"But maybe if you help Sansa, it'll help you reconcile with the family. If we don't try anything, than it'll stay like this forever. Someone has to make a move, and it has to be you."

"I don't know."

"Please, Jon. For me. Let me at least explain to you what's going on, and then you can decide whether or not you want to help, okay?"

Jon sighs. "Okay."

* * *

Arya pulls her car into Gendry's garage. The shop is closed on Sunday's, so the parking lot is blessedly empty. Arya chews her lip, half-hoping Gendry will be there, half-hoping he won't.

At first the shop seems empty, but when Arya gets out of her car, she can hear music coming from the back office. _Damn_, Arya thinks. She considers getting back into her car and driving away, but she needs a tune-up before the race with Joffrey tonight, and this is the only place she can get it for free.

_Maybe I'll just do it myself, and Gendry won't even notice_...but as soon as Arya reaches for the rolling tool chest, a door slams, and long steps sound down the hallway. Arya stills her breath. Her palms feel cold and moist. Why is she nervous? This is Gendry. Just Gendry.

"What happened to you yesterday? Where were you?"

Arya snaps her gaze up. Gendry is standing in the doorway, still many feet away from her. He's wearing his loose workpants and a tight white tank top. Arya's eyes flick over his long, muscled arms, and a flash from an earlier night dances across her mind. His arms clutching her own. His body pinning hers to the bed.

Arya licks her dry lips and takes a step forward. "I had to sort some stuff out."

"You haven't been answering your phone."

"Dead battery."

Gendry takes a few steps forward. She can see the buried anger in his blue eyes. "That's bullshit."

"Fine." Arya slips her phone out of her pocket, drops it to the ground, and crushes it with the sole of her boot. "Broken phone."

"Why are you doing this?" Gendry's voice isn't mad; it's just low, accusing.

"Doing what?"

He laughs, quick and harsh. "Doing what?" He takes a few more steps and starts slowly pacing around the shop, nearing Arya with each and every loop, like a hawk circling its prey. "Doing what? How about ignoring me? How about slipping out of my apartment at the crack of dawn? How about punching me in the stomach and then refusing to speak to me?"

Closer and closer. Their bodies are inches apart, and Arya won't back away. She can handle him. "I won't stand for that kind of crap, Arya. I think you owe more to me than that. I told you I was hesitant to do anything with you because I thought you might be too young, too immature. And you're only proving me right by acting like this. You can't just run away from people."

_Yes I can. I ran away from my entire family._

"You can't just pick up and leave and expect them to be waiting for you when you wander back. What the fuck am I to you? A mechanic? A friend? A _lover_?" He says the last word tauntingly, like it's a joke that they could ever be that intimate. "Because I like you, Arya. I think I've proved that well enough by now. But I'm not going to stick around if you're going to treat me like this, like some fucking stray dog that you pet or feed when you _feel _like it."

He takes another step forward, and Arya has to crane her neck up so that she can maintain eye contact. She can feel the heat of his blue-eyed gaze burning into her, and she won't be the first to look away.

"So what's it going to be?" Gendry asks.

Arya bites the bottom of her lip. _Tell him_, she thinks, _tell him that it's over. Tell him that you don't have time for him. Tell him..._

"I need a tune-up on my car. For the race with Joffrey tonight. Also, I need you to be my witness at the race."

Gendry sighs and shakes his head. "No."

"What?"

"I won't do it. Not until you give me an answer."

It's too much. She doesn't have time for this. She never wanted this- she just wanted _him_. It shouldn't have to be this complicated. "I don't know what you want from me, Gendry. I'm sorry that I'm not some perfect fucking women."

"I don't want you to be perfect, goddammit! I just want you to be fucking honest with me. Is it really that hard for you to just be honest?"

"I've never lied to you. Maybe I've kept some things from you, but I've never lied to you."

"Is there really a difference?"

"Yes, I-" She wants to scream in frustration. She knows she shouldn't have come here. It was a stupid idea. What Gendry said was true. She can't expect him to just wait around for her to show up and leave as she pleases. But it's who she is. She can't change who she is for _him_, or for anyone.

"Look," Arya finally says, trying to gather her thoughts. "The other night, I was mad at you. You fucked things up. I lost that race because of my gloves. I know that's not entirely your fault, but in my mind, I would have won if I hadn't spent time with you. It's like I was being punished for _being _with you. And I don't have time or the fucking mental liberty to think about things like that. I need to concentrate on the races and on my family, so I'm sorry that I can't be more consistent or stable or whatever, but there's a lot going on right now, and you're not my first priority."

_Damn. That sounded harsh._

Arya looks up, and sure enough, a flicker of hurt passes through Gendry's eyes, but he quickly masks it. "I never asked to be your first priority," Gendry responds. "I just want to be on the fucking list. Can you do that for me, Arya? Can you put me on your fucking list?"

_No, say no. Tell him that this is the end. That you don't have time. _

Gendry's blue eyes are boring into her own, and she can feel him crawling under her skin, into her every thought and emotion. She can feel him inside of her, and she can feel that he's already part of her in some way. And she doesn't want to lose that. No matter the consequences. No matter how dumb it is to let this carry on.

"Fine," Arya says. "You can be on my fucking list."

**A/N ****– Short chapter but alas, school has started, and writing time is limited. I figured a short chapter now was better than a long chapter that I never get finished. **

**I quite liked this Arya x Gendry scene- even if it was a little overdramatic. (sue me it's fanfiction)**

**How do you guys feel about Arya? I want her to be a flawed character, but I hope I'm not making her too annoying. I just feel like her selfishness/flightiness is a pretty important part of her character. **

**Thanks for reading and reviewing!**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N **** - So I think I made a little continuity mistake in the story. I don't think I ever specifically wrote a scene where Arya told Gendry that Jon was her brother, but in my mind, when Arya revealed the rest of her family drama to Gendry, she also told him about Jon. SO let's just pretend that I didn't eff up, and from this point forward, just assume to Gendry knows about everyone in Arya's family. Okay thanks! And also sorry it took me so long to update! And sorry this author's note is kind of long! And also you guys are great!**

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Gendry asks. They're sitting in Arya's car, speeding down open roads towards Cajon Cross.

"Of course it's a good idea," Arya responds.

"But what if you lose?"

"I _won't _lose."

"But what if you win?"

"Well that's sort of the point, isn't it? To beat Joffrey in a race?"

"But won't that piss him off?"

Arya bites the bottom of her lip. Gendry knows about her family, and he knows how much they hate the Baratheons, but he doesn't know that Sansa is planning to sabotage the entire family, including Gendry's father. Even though Gendry hates Robert, Arya isn't sure if it's a good idea to tell Gendry that Sansa's doing everything in her power to land Robert Baratheon and his son in jail or at least bankrupt their company.

_He'd probably just want to help_, Arya thinks. _He hates his father, and he hates what his father did to his mother, but still, I probably shouldn't risk it. At least not without talking to Sansa first. _

"Of course it'll piss him off," Arya responds, choosing not to tell Gendry that pissing him off is the purpose of the whole race. "I'm not scared of him."

"Yeah, but what if he doesn't let you race again?"

Arya shrugs her shoulders. "I'll call him a coward and make sure the entire circuit knows that he's scared of a girl."

"That will just make things worse."

"I'll figure it out, Gendry. Stop worrying so much."

"I only worry because you don't. Someone has to look out for you."

"I can look out for myself."

Gendry raises an eyebrow. "Are you sure? Because you seem to lack any sense of self-preservation. In fact, you just ran a red light at sixty miles an hour without blinking an eye. What if a car was coming from the other direction? What if there's a camera at the light and you just got ticketed?"

"There wasn't a car coming from the other direction. I looked. Try using your eyes for something besides traffic lights, and you'll be a much better driver. As for tickets, there _is _a camera at that intersection, but yesterday, I noticed that someone spray painted the screen black, and they still haven't fixed it."

"Fine. All right. You're smarter than you look."

"Smarter than I _look_? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Smarter than you act. Smarter than you look. Same thing. My _point_ is that you could be a little more careful considering that you spend your time with dangerous people and participate in a dangerous sport."

Arya starts to open her mouth, but Gendry cuts her off. "And don't you dare say that racing isn't a dangerous sport because I seem to remember finding you bleeding in my garage about a week ago."

That was _exactly _what Arya was about to say, so when she finally responds, all she can mutter is, "Fine. We're almost there anyways, so let's just drop it."

Gendry smirks and leans back in his seat, crossing his strong arms over his chest. "You just want to drop it because I won the argument."

"No. I just want to drop it because if you keep talking I'm going to punch you in the face."

Gendry is about to respond when, in the distance, a car appears. There are two figures standing outside of it. "Looks like they're already here. Do you know who Joffrey's witness is?"

"Not sure. Maybe Sansa or Sandor." Arya hopes that it isn't her sister. Distracting Joffrey tonight won't prove very useful if Joffrey just drags Sansa along with him.

"Congratulations by the way," Gendry says sarcastically and with a bitter tone, "On Sansa's upcoming wedding."

Arya snaps her head towards Gendry. "How'd you hear about that?"

Gendry narrows his eyes, as if trying to read Arya's expression. "People on the circuit talk," he says slowly. "If you listen, you'll hear some interesting things. It _was_ a bit of a shock to hear it from a stranger instead of you though."

"I didn't think you'd care."

Gendry's eyes flicker. "Of course I'd care. That has to be- really rough for you, upsetting. I want you to share things like that with me."

"I think I've shared enough with you."

"You share facts, not feelings, Arya. You tell me your father was fired, but you don't tell me how that makes you feel. You tell me that Joffrey is blackmailing your sister, but you don't show me your reaction to it. You keep holding me at this distance, and I don't understand why."

The car suddenly feels very small, and as Arya drives closer and closer to Joffrey and his guest, she can feel the walls closing in around her. She cracks her window to let the night breeze inside. "I don't know what you're talking about Gendry. We've only known each other for a couple of weeks now. You can't expect me to share every tiny little detail of my life with you."

"Yes because your sister being blackmailed into marriage is a tiny little detail."

"Just stop it, okay?" Arya snaps. She pulls the car to a stop. "You keep pushing and pushing. I said I'd let you into my life, but that doesn't make every part of my life _your _business."

Gendry leans over. His blue eyes lock onto Arya's, and her breath catches in her throat. She hates it when he stares at her like this. Like he can see everything she's thinking. "You're hiding something from me, aren't you?" Gendry asks.

"What are you talking about?"

"You wouldn't be so defensive if you weren't hiding something."

"I'm _not_-" Arya steadies her voice. "Fine. Maybe I am hiding something. So what?"

Hurt passes through Gendry's gaze. "You don't trust me."

It's a statement, not a question.

Arya wants to say, _of course I trust you _or _you've become one of the most important people in my life _or _why would you think that?_

She wants to say so many things. She wants to ease Gendry's suspicions. She wants to curl her fingers along the nape of his neck and gently kiss his soft lips. She wants to turn the car around, take Gendry with her, and drive far, far away from the Baratheons and the circuit and her family. She wants to leave it all behind and just be free.

But she can't. Because as much as she craves freedom, she knows she has to protect her family. It's her duty.

So Arya responds, "No. I don't trust you." Gendry flinches away from her; his eyes are a mask. _Fuck_, Arya thinks. _Why didn't I just lie? _She quickly tries to soften her harsh response."I don't trust anyone Gendry, not entirely. I- I _want _to trust you, but we barely know each other, and-"

"That's bullshit."

"What?"

"That's bullshit. Don't say we barely know each other. You know more about my family than people who have known me for years. And I bet you anything that I'm one of the only people in the world who knows about your family. Don't you dare say we don't know each other."

"The point remains that we've only been friends or whatever you want to call _us _for less than a month. That's hardly enough time to build trust."

Gendry turns back towards Arya. His voice is low, and his eyes are cold. "You don't know what trust is."

The words hit hard. It's true. Arya has never been able to trust anyone, even her family. If her own mother could abandon her son, than how could Arya ever truly trust her for anything? The back of Arya's throat feels swollen, scratchy, and there's a pressure behind her eyes.

_Trust no one but yourself._

The advice was scrawled on Jon's final note to Arya before he left home, the note that sat on the seat of his old racing car. It's advice that she has stood by every day, and it's gotten her this far, but will it get her further?

She glances at Gendry. He's staring out the window, sharp jaw set rigidly, hands furled into tight fists. _He cares about you_, Arya tells herself, _probably more than any other man will for the rest of your life. And he hasn't betrayed you once. You've told him your secrets, at least some of them, and he's kept them. He's only supported you while you've bullied him and hurt him again and again. Is it really so wrong to trust him? _

She takes a short, shaky breath and tries to speak. At first her voice falters, but when she tries again, the words are soft and steady. "Gendry, look at me." Blue eyes flash to hers. "You're right. I don't know what trust is, but, maybe I can learn."

There's a long pause before Gendry answers. Outside, Arya can see Joffrey pacing with impatience. "Maybe you can." He sighs heavily. "Come on, it's time to race."

Before Arya has a chance to respond, Gendry opens the car door and walks outside. She watches as Joffrey offers Gendry his hand. Gendry hesitates before shaking it. His face is blank, but Arya can see the disdain in his eyes.

Arya bites her lip and tugs down her cap. At least she's getting used to driving with it. She knows her conversation with Gendry isn't finished, but at least they managed to avoid a huge fight. The last thing she needs to be thinking about while racing is the state of her romantic life.

"Cat, so happy you could finally join us," Joffrey says as Arya gets out of the car. "I believe you haven't had the honor of meeting my uncle yet."

"You're uncle?" And that's when Arya notices that there is an extremely short man standing next to Joffrey. He barely reaches Joffrey's waist. He has a rather large head and mismatched eyes.

"Tyrion," the dwarf says, extending a small hand. _Of course_, Arya thinks, _Robert's brother-in-law. They always kept him out of the Christmas cards._

Arya leans over to shake his hand, and she swears that Tyrion locks eyes with her. A hat isn't of much use when someone half her height is standing beneath her. "Cat," she responds.

Tyrion grins, and his eyes seem to sparkle with mischief. "Cat of El Cajon. I've heard so much about you. Quite the mystery. The legend. Who's the girl beneath the cap?"

"I like to remain anonymous."

"That's smart thinking. I like smart thinking. What's the point of having a brain if it never gets used? Perhaps Joffrey can enlighten us."

"Enough, uncle. I didn't ask you here to insult me."

"No, you asked me here because your blushing bride was busy, your racer was drunk, and my dear brother Jaime and my dear sister Cersei choose to turn the other eye to your _illegal _pastime." Tyrion claps his hands and rubs them together. "Now, shall we get on with it? Midnight is dangerously close to my bedtime. I may be a short man, but I'm not a young one anymore, and there's a stack of books I'd like to bite into before the sun starts to rise."

Joffrey's voice drips with annoyance. "If you're bored uncle, I assure you that I can find someone else to witness."

Tyrion waves him off. "No, no, I'd rather like to see this Cat girl race you. You get so mad when you lose. It's very amusing."

"What makes you think I'll lose?"

"Have you seen the girl race? She's more comfortable in a car than you are in a bathtub of money. You don't have a chance against her."

"I haven't seen you at the track before," Arya says.

Tyrion smiles. "I tend to blend in and disappear quite easily. There are a few advantages to my stature."

"Right. I guess that makes sense."

"So. Shall we get started? Gendry, I assume you and I will just come stand over here, and Arya and Joffrey will do the rest."

"Wait!" Joffrey says. "There's one more matter to be settled."

"And what's that?" Arya asks.

"We can't race without a bet, can we? No, of course not."

Arya chews her lip. She doesn't want to admit her financial problems to Joffrey, but the fact is that she doesn't have any money to bet. Her new job will barely cover food and rent as it is. "I don't have a lot of spare money to throw around," Arya says. "Some of us weren't born into trust funds."

"That's all right. If you win, I'll pay you $3,000."

_$3,000? _

Arya can't believe it. That'll be enough to cover her for months. There has to be a catch.

"What about if you win? Not that it's likely," she responds.

"That's simple. If I win, I get your car."

Arya's stomach drops. Of course. She walked right into that one, didn't she?

"My car?"

"Yes." Joffrey smirks. He knows he's backed her into a corner. "Is that a problem?"

She can't bet her car. What if she loses? She'll have to go home or cook burritos for the rest of her life. But she can't admit that to Joffrey. She can't let him think that she's weak. Besides, she'll win. Of course she'll win.

Right?

"Fine," she responds. She extends her hand. "It's a deal."

* * *

The rules for the race are simple. Drive all the way down one length of Cajon Cross, flip your car around, and head back the same way. The start line is the finish line.

_It'll be a piece of cake_, Arya tells herself as she grips the steering wheel. _You've driven this road hundreds of times now. It'll be fine._

She looks at Joffrey, and she notices that his jaw is rigid and his hands are shaking slightly. _He's a nervous racer. _She smiles.

Tyrion waits for the signal, and they both nod to say they're ready, and then he blows the whistle. Arya bursts forward, gaining at least a half-second on Joffrey with her fast start, but as she shifts gears and increases her speed, she notices that Joffrey is gaining ground behind her. His car gets nearer and nearer until he slides by and rushes ahead of her.

"Dammit!" She screams, wondering how much money Joffrey has put into his car over the years. His engine probably costs ten times as much as hers. How can she beat him when her car just isn't as fast?

_It won't be your car if you lose this race_, she reminds herself.

She continues to shift her car, and it starts to rattle under the pressure. She's never had to drive this fast except for the last few seconds of a race, and yet, it's still not as fast as Joffrey's car.

Arya bites her lip, trying to think of how she could make up for his speed. The road is a straight shot. It's doubtful that he'll mess up somewhere, and there are no other racers to distract him.

_The turn! _She thinks. _There's no way he can handle his car like I can handle mine, and he'll have to slow down to cut the turn without overthrowing his car. _

Usually when Arya has to make a full flip in a race, she cuts her speed by about half. Any faster than that and she runs the risk of toppling her car over.

_I guess I'll have to play things risky_, Arya thinks. In the back of her head, she thinks of Gendry's self-preservation comment from earlier. _Maybe he's right. Maybe I am an idiot. But I have to win this race._

Just as Arya predicted, as Joffrey nears the turn, he slams his breaks and almost entirely loses his speed. Arya rushes towards him, refusing to slow down. She gets closer and closer to his car, eyeing the exact radius she'll need to turn around. It'll be a close fit to keep from hitting Joffrey.

She grips her wheel tightly, takes a short breath and yanks her steering wheel to the left. Her car lifts dangerously off the ground, tipping backwards, more and more, but Arya manages to maintain control. Out of the corner of the eye, she notices that Joffrey is still turning behind her. If she can land this, she'll be in the lead by a few car lengths.

"Come on," she whispers. "Do it. Come on."

Her tires screech on the ground, hot rubber burning up beneath her. And when her car lands fully back onto the road, it crashes down with such ferocity that Arya's neck whips back, and a sharp pain shoots through her head.

"Ignore it," she says, her foot slamming down on the accelerator.

She glances in her rearview mirror, and sure enough, Joffrey is now seconds behind her. The question is whether or not it's a big enough lead to see her through the end. Her car is racing down the road at its top speed. At this point, it's a game of chance. Will Joffrey catch up to her? Or will the race be over before then?

The finish line is approaching, and Arya stills her breath in anxiety. Joffrey is getting closer and closer. She can see him on her tail and then inching along the side of her car.

"Come on, come on, come on."

Closer.

Just a little more.

Almost.

"Yes!" She pitches across the finish line half a second before Joffrey does. Even though it's a close match, the results show a clear defeat. She did it.

She gets out of her car and Gendry strides up to her, smiling widely. Arya's first instinct is to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him, but she stops herself, knowing it would peak Joffrey's curiosity a bit too much. She'll have to celebrate her victory with Gendry later tonight.

"Congratulations," Tyrion says. He's smiling, and again, Arya gets the feeling that he knows more than he should.

"Thank you," Arya responds. She turns towards Joffrey. "I wish we had bet car for car. If I had something that ran that fast, I'd never lose a race again."

Joffrey is fuming. She can she his cheeks flushing in anger. "I'll wire the money to your account," he says coldly.

"No you won't. I don't have an account." _Or I do, and I'm just not going to give you access to it. Or my fucking name._

"You'll give it to me in cash. Tomorrow. Meet me at Gendry's garage at noon."

Joffrey narrows his eyes. "Don't think you can tell me what to do just because you won the race."

"A bet is a bet. I expect the money by tomorrow."

"And you'll get it." Joffrey crosses his arms. "I always pay my debts."

**A/N ****– Sorry for the cheesiness that is that final line, but I had to put it in there. It just fit too nicely. Sorry that it took me so long to update! This is what happens when I'm back in school.**

**What did you guys think of Tyrion? GRRM just writes him so well, and I feel like I can't make him half as good, but maybe points for effort?**

**Also, sorry there hasn't been a ton of Arya x Gendry **_**interaction **_**lately, but like I warned in the beginning, this is a slow burn, so I can only devote so much time to romance and keep the story moving. But I promise some fun time in the next chapter or two.**

**On that note- I think next chapter is going to be San x San.**

**Thank you for reading and reviewing!**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N ****– YOU GUYS! I broke 300 reviews last chapter. I honestly never imagined this story would be so popular, especially since it's a smaller fandom, so thank you all so much for your continued support! **

**Also, this chapter is a San x San interlude. It takes place the same night of the previous Arya chapter. **

**Warning: This chapter contains some physical violence. **

Sansa pulls the stolen key from her purse and slips it into the locked door of Baratheon Corporations. The key is a spare that Joffrey keeps hidden in one of his bedroom drawers. If he finds out that Sansa stole it, he'll be furious, and even worse, he'll be suspicious. But Sansa knows he'll be racing Arya until at least one in the morning, so she has a few hours to work with.

The lock clicks open smoothly, and Sansa tugs the ski mask down further on her face. The material is warm and scratchy, but the Baratheon Corporations building is full of cameras, and they'll be too many questions if Sansa gets caught on one of them.

It's ten at night on a Sunday, so the building is completely deserted. From her year as an intern, Sansa knows that even the cleaners take Sunday night off of work. The building is silent and almost pitch-black. A few security lights pave the way to the stairs and elevator.

Sansa heads towards the stairs. Usually, she works on the top floor of the building, but tonight she's headed down to the basement. She's going to dig through old files until she finds something, anything, that can pin blame on the Baratheons.

The heavy door groans when Sansa opens it, and her shoes make soft, thumping sounds as she quickly treads down the stairs. She has to slide a small flashlight out of her pocket and flip it on so that she can see where she's going. She tried to avoid the basement as an intern- it's cold and dusty and full of thousands of files- so she isn't very familiar with the layout.

As soon as she reaches the bottom step, an automatic sensor turns on and floods the room with bright light. Sansa stifles a scream, and she quickly spins around, heart racing, wondering if anyone is behind her. But there's no one there. It must have just been a motion sensor.

For a second, Sansa considers turning around and heading back home. If she gets caught here, she'll be done for. _But I can't_, Sansa thinks_, I came here to find evidence, and I'm not leaving until I get something good. _After taking a calming breath, Sansa flips off her flashlight and heads back into the stacks of files.

They're everywhere. Enormous boxes filled with receipts, tax printouts, legal documents- anything and everything that has been filed in paper form over the past few decades. It's overwhelming. Not knowing where to start, Sansa wanders down a random aisle and starts glancing over the felt marker titles on each box: **Tax, September 2005, Annual Reports August 1998, Refunds January 2002. **

"I could have planned this better," Sansa says aloud. She knew how many files were down here. What made her think that a couple of hours on a Sunday night would give her enough time to sort through anything?

_Well, better get started then. _

Sansa starts to pull down box after box and thumb through paper after paper. Her eyes quickly scan over each document, not sure exactly what to look for. Most of the information is dull and routine. Every now and then she comes across something that looks suspicious, but whenever she takes a closer look, she realizes the information is useless.

After almost two hours of searching, her back is sore, her eyes are tired, and she's found absolutely nothing that will incriminate the Baratheons. She glances at her watch and realizes she only has about an hour until Joffrey will be home. She needs to get the key back to his apartment before then.

Sighing, she stands up, places the last box on the shelf, and heads back up the stairs. As she's walking through the lobby, a fleeting thought passes through her mind.

_Why would they keep anything dangerous in the basement? In a place that everyone has access to? If there's something incriminating in this building, it's probably in Robert's office. _

Again, Sansa glances at her watch. She only has an hour to get home but checking Robert's office shouldn't take long. The man barely works these days. He lets his son, his brother-in-law, and the rest of his employees take care of the business. Robert's office has been clutter free for years now- the search won't take long.

Making the impulse decision, Sansa heads to the elevator and takes it up to the top floor. The doors ping open, and she heads straight to Robert's office in the back corner of the floor. Her heart begins to race with excitement. She can feel it in the pit of her stomach- she knows she's about to find something good.

The office door isn't even locked. Sansa can't help but laugh softly. The Baratheons are so arrogant; they would never suspect their own staff of working against them. Sansa shuts the door behind her and immediately begins to rifle through drawers. Like she suspected, they're mostly empty, but the bottom left drawer has a tiny lock on it.

Sansa tries to open it anyways, but it's locked shut. She reaches up into her hair and extracts a bobby pin. A long tendril of auburn hair falls into her face, and she tucks it behind her ear.

Years ago, Arya would steal Sansa's things, like her make-up or underwear, and hide them all over the house. Finally Sansa decided her sister needed a lesson in karma, so she learned how to pick a lock. One day when Arya wasn't home, Sansa picked open the lock to Arya's 'secret safe' and stole every last trinket inside. She refused to give Arya her things back until Arya promised to never steal again.

The treaty lasted about three months before she had to steal Arya's things again, so over the years, Sansa got very good at picking locks.

Sansa slips the pin into the tiny keyhole, jimmies it around a bit, and smiles broadly when it click open. "Glad to see I haven't lost my touch," she says aloud.

Anticipation courses through her as she slowly opens the drawer. _This is it_, she thinks_, I know it. _

The only thing inside is a thin, manila folder. Sansa's heart drops a little with disappointment, but she extracts the folder and lays it out on Robert's mahogany desk. She opens it and finds about a dozen, hand-written memos, all from the law offices of Tyler & Durden and all addressed to Robert Baratheon.

Sansa quickly scans over the memos:

_A dozen reports of axels fallen off... three deaths this week alone... faulty steering... into a lake... another death today... trying to keep it quiet..._

Her hands start to shake as she realizes what she's holding. This is it. Evidence. Criminal evidence. According to these memos, it looks like the Baratheon Corporation, or at least Robert, tried to cover up hundreds of faulty cars that led to at least ten deaths. They didn't even pull the cars from production until a year later.

_I can't believe it_, Sansa thinks. She knew the Baratheons were terrible people, but she never imagined they would actually endanger the lives of hundreds of innocents all to avoid an expensive lawsuit. It looks like they doled out money to the victims, but only a quarter as much as they would have spent if the case had gone to trial. They paid the victims to keep their mouths shut and keep the profitable, yet dangerous car on the market.

A mixture of hatred and relief floods through Sansa. This is it. If she's smart, she can use this to bring them down. If she's smart, she can hopefully use this to help her father. She just needs time to think about the best way to do it.

Sansa shuts the desk drawer, slips the manila file in her large purse, and quickly exits the building. Her watch reads 12:45. Hopefully she'll beat Joffrey home.

* * *

Just as Sansa is slipping the key back in Joffrey's drawer, the front door slams open and angry footsteps sound down the hallway. Sansa's heart starts racing, and her throat goes dry. She has no reason for being at Joffrey's apartment at one in the morning, and to add to it, it sounds like he didn't win the race.

Sansa turns around, desperately trying to think of an excuse, but Joffrey's footsteps are getting closer and closer. And when she steps into the hallway, she collides with him. He let's out a surprised scream and takes her harshly by the shoulders, staring into her eyes with a furious, almost manic, expression.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He screams. "Trying to give me a heart attack?"

Sansa tries to calm her racing pulse, tries to think of all the moves Sandor has been teaching her this past week, tries to remember the fact that she now has dirt on the Baratheons, but all she can think about is Joffrey and how his sharp fingers are digging into her skin and bruising her shoulders, and how her cheek still throbs with dull pain from where he last hit her.

She opens her mouth, but no words come out.

"I said, what the fuck are you doing here?"

"I-"

"I know you're slow Sansa, but try a little bit harder, and you won't come across as such a fucking idiot all the time. Thank god you're not half bad to look at because that's about all you have going for you." Joffrey releases her shoulders but then shoves her harshly against the wall.

Sansa stays there, shaking softly. He's even angrier than usual.

"Well?" Joffrey crosses his arms. "Are you going to answer me or not?"

"I, I thought I'd just come by and say hello."

"Come by and say hello?" Joffrey laughs harshly. "When the fuck have you ever done that? And at one in the morning?" Joffrey takes a step closer to Sansa. She can feel his warm, acidic breath washing over her as he speaks. "No. You're up to something. I can practically smell it on you."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Joffrey."

"I'm talking about the fact that you're sneaking around my apartment in the middle of the night, and you _look _guilty." Joffrey grabs Sansa wrist and squeezes it tightly, twisting it at a painful angle. Tears well up in Sansa's eyes. "Now tell me what the fuck you've been doing."

"Nothing!" Sansa screams.

"I don't believe you."

Joffrey drops her wrist, and then, just as she's about the rub it, Joffrey lashes out and slaps her hard across the face. The force of the blow almost pushes her to the ground, and a sharp pain shoots through Sansa's head.

"Stop it!" She screams. The fear is dissipating, and the anger is welling up within her. Sandor's lessons come back to her, his words coiling up like a snake ready to bite.

_Being angry is a good thing...funnel your anger..._

Sansa's hands curl into fists, and as Joffrey goes to slap her again, Sansa ducks out of the way, spins around, and hooks a hard punch to his left cheek. The sound of the punch is hollow and sharp, and Joffrey shouts with pain. Sansa's knuckles will be bruised tomorrow, and she smiles with satisfaction.

"I told you to stop it," she whispers, her voice dangerously low. "You'd better start listening to me, Joffrey."

When Joffrey stands up, there's a boiling fury in his eyes. His cheek is sliced open from her ring, and blood is trickling down onto his shirt.

"You're a stupid, stupid girl," Joffrey spits out.

He lunges forward and tries to grab Sansa by the throat, but she spins out of his reach. They start to grapple at each other, each punch and kick becoming more and more clumsy as the bruises start to form, and as the sharp pain grows more and more intense. Joffrey aims for Sansa's cheek, but instead, hits her in the temple, clouding her vision with severe, constricting pain.

But before he can get another hit in, she nails him in the stomach, and is satisfied to see that her punches damage Joffrey a lot more than they damage Sandor. The blow sends Joffrey to the ground, and Sansa, extremely lightheaded, realizes it's her time to exit. She jumps over him and quickly retreats down the hallway, one hand clutching the bleeding side of her face, limping, with her weight on her left leg.

"This isn't over!" Joffrey shouts from behind her, his voice edged with discomfort.

The pain has never been this intense. The abuse has never gone this far.

But as Sansa turns around one last time and sees Joffrey crumpled on the ground, body clenched in pain, she can't help but smile. She's not a caged bird anymore. Now she has talons as sharp as a lion's.

* * *

The lights are on in Sandor's apartment, and when Sansa tries the knob, the door swings open. She hesitantly steps into the room and shouts, "Hello?"

After the first session at the karate studio, Sandor decided to relocate the training to his own apartment. It was less of a hassle that way, and Sandor assured Sansa that Joffrey never stooped so low as to come by Sandor's home. Sandor also told her that if Joffrey ever got rough again and she needed help, to let him know.

Sansa isn't sure why Sandor told her that. She isn't sure why he wants to help. Maybe because he hates Joffrey as much as she does.

But now, it's two in the morning, and she's bleeding profusely, and she's not about to show up at Margaery's or Arya's place to ask for help. Her friend and her sister would spend too much time asking questions and not enough time checking to see if she needed stitches.

No. Sandor is a much better option. He's the most silent person Sansa knows.

"Hello?" She shouts again, this time a bit louder. She looks down and winces, noticing that she's dripping fresh dots of blood on the carpet. Her head feels woozy as soon as she looks down, and she has to grip the door for support. It was probably a dumb idea to drive here considering she's having trouble standing. It sounds like something Arya would do.

"Anyone here?" Black dots wave in front of her vision, and she has the fight back the queasy feeling coursing through her. Sansa's entire body seems to be throbbing in pain.

She takes a few steps forward, gripping the chair, and then the couch, as she makes her way further into the apartment. "Hello?"

Finally, a rough voice responds, "Who the fucking hell is in my apartment?" The voice sounds thick, coated with sleep.

_Dammit_, Sansa thinks. _I woke him up. _

A door creaks open and footsteps sound down the hallway. Sandor appears, wearing only a pair of boxers, and Sansa's stomach drops. Her eyes slowly graze over his naked torso, over thick and scarred muscle, before dropping down to his strong, bare legs. She bites her bottom lip and just barely manages to drag her eyes away.

When she looks up, Sandor is staring at her with an intense, yet unreadable expression. Her face flushes, and heat floods through her body. An unfamiliar feeling pulses through her.

_Am I attracted to him? _

The idea is foreign, almost laughable, but as her eyes quickly flicker back over his exposed body, she can feel her body course with desire.

"What the hell happened to you?" Sandor asks.

"I-" for a second, Sansa almost forgot why she was at his apartment, but then the pain hits her again with twice the force, and she has to lean against the couch for support. "Joffrey happened."

"I guess our lessons didn't get you far."

Sansa smiles. It hurts. "I don't know, Sandor, you should see him."

"Hmm." Sandor crosses his arms, and Sansa watches his bare muscles contract. "Is that right?"

"I left him bleeding on the ground."

Sandor nods, and his lips lift in a ghost of a smile. It's about as happy as Sandor ever looks. "Good."

She was hoping he would say something else. _I'm proud of you. I knew you could do it. He'll never hurt you again. _But this is Sandor she's talking to, and she has to remember that.

Sansa starts to move forward so that she can go to the bathroom and clean herself up, but she stumbles. Sandor's arms sweep out and catch her. He pulls her safely to his bare chest, and sharp lust instantly wells up within her. His body is warm, hard, and strong, and the blood-loss is making everything feel surreal. When she looks up into his dark eyes, so can imagine reaching up and pressing her lips to his.

"You're all right," Sandor says, his voice still throaty with sleep.

Sansa can feel her entire body flushing. _Is he not feeling this too? Am I hallucinating? _

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up before you bleed all over the rest of my floor." Sandor gently grabs her arm and wraps it around his thick waist so that she can lean on him as they head into the bathroom. The contact is overwhelming, and Sansa is tempted to ask Sandor to put a shirt on. But then he would ask why, and that's a question she doesn't want to answer.

When they get to the bathroom, Sansa sits on the closed lid of the toilet. Sandor runs hot water over a washcloth and then slowly wipes her face clean with light, measured strokes. Sansa closes her eyes and begins to drift away.

Somehow, despite all the pain, all the trauma, her body finally feels at ease, with Sandor crouched beneath her, with his warm, strong hands gently brushing against her skin.

**A/N ****– Aw, I missed writing San x San. I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. I hope this story isn't too angsty or anything. I'm really bad at gauging this stuff. **

**Thank you for reading and reviewing! I love to hear your guys feedback!**

**(also- did anyone get my movie reference? Hint: it's one directed by fincher)**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N ****– Thank you guys so much for the wonderful reviews from last chapter! I just got back from Dragon*Con, so I'm on a bit of a sci-fi/fantasy high even though no one from Game of Thrones (except Khal Drogo) was in attendance. You can check out my tumblrs if you want to see pictures (winteriscoming-eventually and a-game-of-horcruxes).**

**Anyways! We're back to Arya x Gendry in this chapter. It takes place right after the race with Joffrey. Hopefully these POV switches aren't confusing, but if you can handle GRRM 20 POVs in one book, I figure you can handle my two. **

**Also I think you all will really like this chapter ; ) **

Arya can't stop smiling as she speeds back to Gendry's apartment. Adrenaline is rushing through her. She feels high. Ecstatic. Alive. The warm, night air whips through her windows, and she turns the radio down so she can listen to her car racing down the smooth streets.

It feels like a giant weight has been lifted off of her. She just won three thousand dollars, and even better, she just beat Joffrey in a race. Sure, he'll be pissed at her, but he can't back down now. If he suspends her from the track, everyone will call him a coward.

"Congratulations," Gendry says, his voice short and clipped.

"You could sound happier about it," Arya says lightly. Her fight with Gendry seems like it happened ages ago. All she wants to do now is celebrate. She won't let him bring down the mood. "Come on," Arya says, reaching across the seat to grab his hand. He doesn't pull away from her grip, but his eyes stay trained on the window. "I just won us three thousand dollars."

"_Us_?"

"Well I have been crashing at your apartment for days now. I figure I could at least buy you a drink or two to make up for it." As Arya pulls up to a red light, she squeezes his hand lightly. "Hey, look at me."

Slowly Gendry turns around. His blue-eyed gaze is tired, weary. "What?" He asks.

A small wave of panic pulses within Arya. _Did she really fuck it up this time? Did she push him too far with the last fight? _

"What's wrong?" Arya asks.

"Nothing." Gendry squeezes Arya's hand back, and he lifts his soft lips into a half-smile. "Come on. Let's go get that drink."

The light turns green, but Arya doesn't break eye contact. She searches Gendry's gaze, trying to figure out what's running through his mind. But the lingering weariness is gone, and his hand is wrapped firmly around her own. "All right," she finally says. "Let's get a drink. Now where can we find a bar that will serve an eighteen year old?"

"It shouldn't be hard."

"Why not?"

"Because you're a hot eighteen year old."

Gendry smirks, and when Arya punches him in the arm, his smile only widens.

* * *

"Fucking hell," Arya says after taking another sip of her margarita on the rocks. "What the hell do they put in this?"

"A few ice cubes, a couple teaspoons of water, and tequila." Gendry takes a sip of his own drink and winces. "And then some more tequila." He takes another sip. "Can't complain though. This place is right around the corner from my apartment, and the drinks are cheap."

Arya already feels lightheaded, and they still have half a pitcher to get through. Her face and body are flushed. "But we don't have to get cheap drinks. I just won a bunch of money."

"That money won't last long if you keep betting it."

"It will if I keep betting it _and _keep winning. And how could I lose with such a perfect mechanic?"

Gendry narrows his eyes. "Did you just call me perfect, Arya?" He glances at her almost empty cup. "You have had alcohol before, right?"

"All the time."

_If alcohol is a glass of wine at family dinners or that one beer Robb sneaked to me last winter. _

"All right. Just checking."

"Actually, I'll take a refill." Arya goes to grab the pitcher, but Gendry gets to it first. He leans over, fills up Arya's glass, and gives it back to her. When their hands touch, a spark of electricity passes between them.

Arya locks eyes with Gendry. _God he's attractive. _His blue eyes are dark in the dim bar, and his strong arms are crossed over the table, exposing lean, tight muscle. Arya bites the bottom of her lip, and when Gendry's gaze is drawn to the soft skin, lust courses through her.

Gendry moves his chair closer so that their thighs are pressed together under the table. Arya's heated body instantly reacts. The tension between them is palpable.

Gendry leans closer, his mouth brushing against Arya's ear. "Finish your drink," he says, his low voice lighting the fire beneath her stomach.

"Why?" Arya asks. His mouth moves lower, his stubble rubbing against her smooth skin. He places a chaste, yet burning, kiss against the bottom of her jaw.

"Because," he says, "We never made up after our fight."

"We didn't?"

"No." Gendry looks up into Arya's eyes. There's raw desire in his gaze, and Arya flushes with warmth. She wants him. "And I'd rather make up at home than in this bar."

Arya's mouth is dry, and when she tries to speak, her voices comes out raspy. "Finally," she says. "Something we can agree on."

* * *

The short walk takes forever. They didn't finish their drinks, but they are still tipsy enough that they can't keep their hands to themselves. Every few steps, Arya slips her hand into the back pocket of Gendry's jeans or Gendry leans down and brushes his lips against Arya's exposed neck.

It's almost two in the morning by the time they get to Gendry's apartment, but Arya has never felt more awake. She can't take her eyes off of Gendry as he leans over to unlock the front door. She's never felt so attracted, so lustful, for a man before. And knowing that he wants her too just intensifies the feeling.

As soon as they step into the apartment, Gendry spins around and pushes Arya against the closed door. She let's out a soft moan as his hard body presses against her own, as his strong hands thread through her hair. "Kiss me," he says, yanking her head up to meet his lips.

The kiss is forceful, almost desperate. Arya can feel her lips bruising, but she meets his fervent demand. She takes his bottom lip between two teeth, nipping it harshly, only satisfied when he groans into her mouth. Her arms wrap around his back, tugging his body closer, arching against him so that she can feel his desire pressed against the side of her leg.

"More, less," Gendry says.

"What?"

"More of this, less clothes."

At those words, Gendry takes Arya's hand and pulls them back towards his bedroom. Excitement courses through her. _He's finally giving in. He wants me, and he's finally giving in. _Arya pushes away any sense of trepidation. She knows she's doing the right thing. She knows Gendry is the right person.

When they reach the bedroom, Arya pushes Gendry down onto the bed, but she doesn't follow after him.

"Come on," Gendry says, blue eyes impatient, flickering with heat.

"In a second."

Making sure that Gendry's eyes are still on her, Arya quickly strips off her tank top. She tosses the spare piece of fabric to the ground and then lets her hands travel towards the button on her jeans. She flashes her gaze to Gendry, and he's staring at her with burning desire in his eyes, breathing shallowly.

Arya smiles wickedly. She loves holding this power over him.

She takes her time, popping the button off of her jeans, and slowly pulling down the zipper. As she tugs the jeans down her legs, she turns to the side, exposing her simple black thong. "Jesus," Gendry mutters, his voice low and thick. "I swear to god if you don't get over here right now, I'll strip your car of all its parts."

Arya can't help but laugh. "Oh, Gendry, I love it when you talk dirty."

"Shut up and get on the bed."

Her laughter dies as soon as she meets Gendry's gaze. His eyes are hard with desire, and Arya can feel warmth pooling between her legs. A twinge of nerves passes through her again, but she ignores them, and crawls onto the bed. As soon as she's within reach, Gendry grabs her, flips her onto her back, and moves on top of her.

Their mouths meet with a heavy insistence, and Arya shudders with lust as their teeth scrape together. Gendry is still fully dressed, and something about being half-naked beneath him, fills Arya with need. She arches her body against him, rubbing herself against his arousal, loving the feel of the rough fabric against her bare skin.

Gendry groans and starts moving with her, his hands roaming her unbarred body. Arya trembles as his hands dip lower and lower, tracing the outline of her thong, cupping her full bottom. "You're perfect," he whispers into the crook of her neck. "Infuriatingly perfect."

He leaves hot, open-mouthed kisses against her skin, and Arya continues to squirm beneath him, wanting more, wanting this feeling to never end. Her hands wander under the hem of his shirt, and she tugs it up. Gendry leans forward so that he can lift the shirt over his head. "Jeans," Arya says.

"I-"

"Jeans." _He's not backing out this time_, Arya thinks. _Gallantry is bullshit. _

Gendry catches Arya's eyes before nodding. He quickly maneuvers out of his jeans and drops them to the floor. When he crawls back on top of Arya, they both shiver with desire, pressing their almost bare bodies as close together as possible. As good as the jeans felt, this feels even better. Arya grabs Gendry by the back of the head and pulls his lips down to her own.

His arousal is hard against her, and Arya adjusts her body so that it fits right against her pulsing heat. There are only a couple thin layers of fabric between them, and Arya moans as Gendry starts to slowly move against her. Her arms wrap around his back, driving him closer. The friction feels unbelievably good, and Arya can feel the bundle of nerves tightening within her.

Gendry's hands start to travel over her body again. They come to the back of her bra, and after glancing at her for approval, Gendry unsnaps the bra and throws it the ground. He doesn't waste time staring. He instantly moves towards her small breasts, cupping them with both hands. It feels too good for Arya to be embarrassed, and she closes her eyes as his fingers slowly travel over the sensitive skin.

She gasps when he suddenly lowers his mouth and places a warm kiss against her nipple. She bucks beneath him as he continues to kiss her and touch her. Her body swirls with lust, and her vision is hazy. As good as it feels, it's also torture because she knows she wants more.

Finally, she grabs him by the back of his head and locks eyes with him. "Enough," she says, "Stop wasting time."

Gendry smirks. "You're very impatient."

"And you're very slow."

Gendry licks his lips. "I like taking my time."

"Well I don't."

And with that, Arya pushes Gendry off of her, flips him around, and crawls on top. She brazenly straddles him, and is satisfied when she meets his heated gaze. She starts to move against his arousal, putting more pressure behind each movement. Gendry's eyes flicker close. He groans, "Jesus, Arya."

Her own stomach tightens with need as she continues to move against him. She doesn't know how much longer she can take it. The heat. The need. The building tension. So she quickly unstraddles him and slithers down his stomach, hands at the waistband of his boxers. Anxious excitement fills her. "Gendry," she says, "I'm going to ask you this once, and you're going to give me a straight answer, and you're not going to give me any bullshit about protecting my honor, all right?"

There's a long pause before Gendry answers. "All right."

"Good." Arya takes a breath before asking, "Where are your condoms?"

She can feel Gendry tense beneath her, and her pulse starts racing with anxiety. _What if he turns me down again? What if he-_

"Bottom drawer of the nightstand."

Arya quickly scrambles off the bed and opens the nightstand. Sure enough, there's a small packet of foils in the bottom drawer. With slightly shaking hands, Arya grabs one and moves back onto the bed.

Gendry is sitting up, and when he meets her eyes, Arya knows he can see right through her. Gendry takes the packet from her and then grabs her hands. "Arya, it's not all bullshit, you know. I just want to make sure you're ready. I know-"

"I haven't had sex before. Right. But I'm ready." Arya takes a breath. "And I want it to be with you."

Gendry opens his mouth to respond, but Arya cuts him off. "And if you say another word, I swear to god you will be in the worse pain of your life. You're going to shut up, put that condom on, and have sex with me. And that's the end of this discussion."

For a second, Arya thinks Gendry is going to protest, but then he slowly breaks into an amused smile and says, "Okay."

Gendry leans forward and presses Arya against the bottom of the bed. He moves down, grabs her underwear and gently pulls it down her legs. Arya's stomach tightens with tension. She's never been entirely naked in front of a guy before, and yet, it feels right.

As Gendry moves back up her legs, he places soft kisses against the skin. Arya's pulse starts racing as he gets closer and closer to the apex of her legs. She can feel warmth growing beneath her, and she's aching for him to finally touch her. He looks at her, his eyes never leaving her own, as he slowly presses one finger against her, rubbing the sensitive skin.

Arya lets out a soft moan. "More," she says.

Still not breaking eye contact, Gendry pushes the single finger inside of her. Arya gasps with pleasure. Her body is heated and tense with anticipation. As her body slowly adjusts, he slips another finger inside, and then a third. He licks his lips. His eyes are filled with concentrated desire.

"Does this feel good?" He asks.

Arya can't do anything but nod and arch against him. Sensing the message, Gendry starts to move his fingers within her, slipping in and out, pressing with more pressure, intensifying in speed. Arya finally has to close her eyes as she presses herself against the bed. Her body is one fire, and the bundle of nerves feels like it's ready to explode. "Don't stop," she mutters. "Please don't stop."

But the motion slows, and eventually does stop with Arya's body still on the edge of pleasure. She snaps her eyes open. "Sorry," Gendry says. "Just try to be patient. Just this once."

And then he quickly pulls off his boxers and grabs the condom, slipping it from its package. Arya can't help but look at Gendry. Another wave of nerves courses through her. He's not exactly small. _It'll be fine_, Arya tells herself. _Better yet, it'll be great. _Gendry slips the condom onto his arousal and then climbs back on top of Arya.

He opens his mouth. "Are you-"

"Yes."

"Okay." He takes a shallow breath. "Arya?"

"What?"

"I-" he pauses, blue eyes flickering with hesitation. "You're very special to me. I just want you to know that."

Arya smiles. "I know."

And then Gendry leans down and kisses Arya softly on the lips. It's sweeter than the previous kisses, more lingering. And as he kisses her, he places his arousal against her and then slowly pushes into her. Arya winces in pain, but she wraps her arms around Gendry and pulls him closer, kissing him again and again.

She slowly adjusts once he's inside of her, and the pain begins to transform into pleasure. "All right?" Gendry asks, and Arya nods in response. His eyes are filled with lust, and it ignites the desire within her.

Gendry starts to move inside of her, and Arya gasps at the sensation. The heat. The friction. The fullness. It's all so consuming. She presses against him, meeting his every movement, encouraging him to go faster, to go deeper. A cry escapes her mouth as he pushes further inside.

"Look at me," Gendry commands, and her eyes snap to his own. It's overwhelming. Moist sweat is slickening their bodies as they move together, again and again.

Gendry drives into her, his hips pounding into her own, punishingly good. Arya starts moaning his name, louder and louder, and her hands wrap around and grip his back, fingernails scraping down the bare skin.

One of Gendry's hands travels down to the apex between her thighs, and Arya gasps as he brushes against that same bundle of nerves. "Gendry," she mutters, her entire body tightening. "I think-"

He brushes the bundle again and Arya suddenly gasps, her entire body exploding with an encompassing, unfamiliar sensation. Gendry pushes into her a few more times before shuddering, moaning her name, and collapsing on top of her.

Arya's body feels weightless and content. Gendry looks down at her and presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. His heavy body is warm and covered with a sheen of sweat. He smiles when he catches Arya's eye.

"I told you I was ready," Arya says. "One day you'll learn that I'm always right."

Gendry sighs and shakes his head. "Arya, just shut up and kiss me."

**A/N ****– Wow. That was way longer than I thought it would be. I had some other scenes planned for this chapter, but oh fucking well. I hope this scene turned out all right. It was my first full-blown sex scene, and I felt pretty nervous writing it. **

** Anywho- hopefully you guys enjoyed it. Yay for arya and gendry having sex and all that good stuff. **

** I'm pretty sure next chapter will be another san x san, but that's TBD. **


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N – ****So I know I said this would probably be a San x San, but nope. Why? Because Arya x Gendry. That's why. But next chapter will be a San x San, okay?**

**All, as usual, I love all of you. K. Thnx. Bye. Read my story now.**

"Mmm, good morning to you too," Gendry says, his voice thick with sleep.

Arya has to bite her lip to control her laughter. She watches as Nymeria roughly licks the side of Gendry's cheek. Gendry lets out a soft moan before wrapping his arm around the dog and freezing in shock. His eyes snap open.

"Oi!" Gendry pushes Nymeria away, and she barks playfully before bounding to the carpet and out of the room.

Arya stands sniggering by the door. "Though that was funny, did you?" Gendry asks. His brown hair is sticking up in all directions. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"I thought I'd get a few hours of practice in before Joffrey's lackey shows up with my money."

Arya woke up as the sun was rising. She decided she needed a couple hours to herself, so she snuck out of bed, grabbed her keys, and headed out to Cajon Cross. She drove for hours with Nymeria by her side, letting the cool morning air clear her head.

Gendry rolls his eyes and reaches for the clock on the bedside table. As he leans over, the white sheet slips down his chest, revealing the hard planes of his stomach and a line of coarse hair. Heat starts to fill Arya's belly, and her pulse starts racing. "Well it's only eleven," Gendry says, putting the clock back down.

When he meets Arya's eyes, a slow, cocky grin appears. "That gives us a full hour before we have to meet the lackey."

His eyes flicker over Arya's body. She's wearing a pair of shorts and a tank top, but she feels naked under his gaze. He licks his lips, and just the slight darting of his tongue across the reddened skin makes Arya shiver.

"I-" Arya starts to respond.

"I hope I didn't scare you out of bed."

"Of course you didn't scare me-"

"Are you sure? Because I seem to remember a lot of screaming."

Arya blushes. So much for sensitive Gendry. "Shut up," she mutters. "And get dressed. We need to get to the garage. It's $3,000. I don't have time to fuck around."

"Really? Because I seem to remember-"

"Gendry!"

"Okay, all right." Gendry puts his hands up in mock surrender as he climbs out of the bed. This time the sheet drops completely to the floor, and Arya's entire body flushes as she stares at a naked Gendry. Her mouth feels dry, and Gendry is smirking once again. "Now are you sure you want me to get dressed?" He asks.

Arya gulps and takes a steadying breath. She can't believe she had sex with _that _last night. All of _that. _It takes a lot of effort to pull her eyes away. She turns towards the door and mutters, "I'll be waiting in the car."

* * *

"Doesn't anyone else work here?" Arya asks as they pull into Gendry's garage.

Gendry shrugs his shoulders. "Mott left me the shop when he passed away, and the mortgage had already been paid. Now I just have to work enough to keep food on the table."

"Don't you get lonely working alone all day?"

Gendry laughs. "I don't spend much time alone. Not since you showed up."

It's true. Ever since Arya arrived in San Diego, Gendry has been playing a major role in her life. She sees him more than Sansa or Jon. "But before I came along- who'd you hang out with?"

Gendry shrugs his shoulders and remains silent. A knot of worry tightens in Arya's chest. Usually she's the one keeping secrets and evading questions. It's unusual for Gendry to hide something from her, but if she expects him to respect her privacy, than she'll have to respect his too.

Arya climbs out of the car and heads back towards Gendry's office. "Where are you going?" He calls out.

"Food," Arya responds.

Gendry always keeps something to eat in his office. Usually it's just a box of cereal or some chips, but Arya is hungry enough that anything will do. She opens the office door and starts opening cabinets. _Empty. Empty. Empty. _

Finally, she opens the last cabinet and finds a box of cheerios. As she's going to grab the cereal, a pair of hands shoots out from behind her and tugs the waistband of her shorts, yanking her backwards against a hard chest. Arya's heart immediately starts racing, and the soreness between her legs starts pulsing with heat.

Gendry's mouth lowers to Arya's ear. His hands travel slowly up and down the length of her legs, and Arya lets out a soft moan when they start to massage her upper thighs. "What are you doing?" Arya asks breathlessly.

"I never got a good morning kiss," Gendry responds.

He then raises a hand and tugs Arya's head back by her hair. She groans as his lips crash down onto her own, and she whips around so that she can face Gendry and push their bodies closer. His kisses are long and heated, and his growing arousal is pressing against her, causing her own body to ache with lust.

They start to stumble backwards until Arya hits the front of the desk. She squeaks in surprise when Gendry lifts her up and places her on the hard surface. Arya instantly wraps her legs around Gendry, tugging him closer, angling their bodies so that his arousal can brush against the tender spot between her thighs. Gendry groans as she tightens her grip and starts to rub herself against him.

His lips travel towards her earlobe, sucking on the sensitive skin. Arya wraps her legs tighter and arches against Gendry, praying for relief of the pressure building in her lower abdomen. "You call this a good morning kiss," she mutters, groaning halfway through her sentence as Gendry's lips lower to her collarbone.

"Well now it's afternoon," Gendry says, his breath hot against her skin. "We missed the morning entirely."

"What, do you charge interest or something?"

Suddenly Gendry grabs Arya's legs and pulls her forward sharply so that their bodies snap together even more tightly than before. Gendry's hands travel towards her bottom, and as he cups the supple skin, he looks up with amused eyes and says, "Maybe."

"Fucking hell," Arya says as his hands reach for her tank top. He pulls the material up inch-by-inch, planting open-mouthed kisses against the revealed skin, pressing Arya back against the desk with each touch. "We don't have time for this."

"You sure?" Gendry asks. He tosses her tank top to the side and discards his own shirt, revealing taut, tanned muscles.

Arya licks her lips. "Yes." She reaches forward and presses a hand to his hard abdomen, fingernails softly scraping down the smooth skin. "Definitely no time."

Her eyes flicker to his own. He's staring at her with raw desire as her hands trace the planes of his defined chest. Arya can feel the heat welling up inside of her, can feel the ache between her thighs pulsing with need. She leans forward and presses her mouth against Gendry's bare skin.

"Arya," Gendry warns as she starts to kiss lower and lower.

She slips from the desk and falls to her knees, letting her mouth slide over his exposed skin. He shudders as her hands reach for the buckle of his belt, and his hands lift to thread through her hair.

Arya finishes with the belt and quickly yanks down Gendry's pants. "Jesus, what do you think you're doing?" Gendry asks.

Arya snaps her eyes up. "What does it look like, idiot?"

He starts to say something else, but it cuts off in a groan as Arya tugs down his boxers. She glances up at him, watching carefully as she reaches out to wrap a hand around his arousal. "Fuck," he mutters, head back, eyes closed, full lips parted.

Arya smiles wickedly. She's done this before, but only a few times, and it's never managed to turn her on like this. She leans forward and presses a chaste kiss against the soft skin. Gendry lets out a sharp breath.

But as she leans forward to kiss him again, a far-off door slams open, and a familiar voice calls out, "Hello?" The call echoes from inside the garage, and Arya and Gendry both freeze in surprise.

"Hello?" The voice repeats. It sounds louder this time, and Arya scrambles to her feet, searching for her shirt.

"Shit, shit," she mutters. She glances at Gendry. "Put some pants on for fucks sake!"

It takes a second for the comment to register. Gendry is staring at Arya with a shocked and almost pained expression. "You know you can't just do that to a guy," Gendry mutters as he tugs up his boxers.

Arya finally finds her tank, and she throws it over her head. "It's not _my _fault. I told you we didn't have time."

"Than why did you-"

The voice cuts in again. "Hello?"

"Fuck," Arya mutters. Gendry is still only half-dressed. "You stay here, all right? I don't need Joffrey's lackey finding out about us."

"Why?"

Again, the voice calls out, "Anyone here?"

Arya ignores Gendry's question. She snags her hat from the corner of the office, tugs it over her head, and rushes from the room. "Stay right here," she commands on her way out.

* * *

Arya is surprised to find Tyrion in the garage. He's wandering around the room, picking up engine parts and examining them with a careful eye. Making sure her hat is pulled down tightly, Arya clears her throat and says, "Hello."

Tyrion's mismatched eyes study her. Thorough. Calculating. Arya feels uncomfortable under the studious gaze.

"It's good to see you again. _Cat_." He places a heavy emphasis on the name, and Arya can feel her skin crawling with fear. She wants this conversation to be over as soon as possible, because one thing is for sure, Tyrion is a hell of a lot smarter than his nephew.

"Do you have my money?"'

Tyrion lifts a small paper bag. "Right here."

Arya eyes it suspiciously. "It doesn't look like $3,000 dollars."

"Ten one-hundred dollar bills comprise a thousand dollars. Times that amount by three, and you get three thousand dollars and exactly thirty bills. It doesn't take up much space, and neither do I."

"Right." Arya chews the bottom of her lip. "Well you can just leave it by the car and show yourself out."

"I think not. Joffrey insisted I hand the money over to you myself. I wouldn't want to cross his rotten little toes, so if you don't mind-" Tyrion starts to walk towards Arya. Her first instinct is to back away. For a small man, Tyrion is extremely threatening.

But she can't back away. Of course she can't.

Tyrion stops in front of her and offers her the paper bag. As she goes to take it from him, his hand lifts, and his fingers wrap tightly around her wrist. Arya gasps. Her first instinct is to call for Gendry, but she knows he might lose his temper, and besides, she can handle this herself.

"Let go of my hand," she says through gritted teeth.

Tyrion's eyes flash to her own. _Shit_, Arya thinks. From his vantage point, he can see right under her hat. A smile curls to his face.

He drops her hand. "Of course. I wouldn't want to cause harm to Ned Stark's daughter, now would I?"

The threat hangs heavy in the air, and Arya's entire body starts to thrum with anxiety. _How could I be so stupid? Why'd I let him get this close? Does Joffrey know?_

"How'd you know?" Arya asks, stalling for time. "You haven't set eyes on me for years."

"Well, first of all, I'm not an idiot, contrary to some of the buffoons I'm related to, and second of all, I'd recognize those Stark eyes anywhere. Northern eyes. That's what your mother used to call them."

"That's why you delivered the money."

"I had to confirm my suspicions. People have a nasty habit of jumping to conclusions."

The blood is pounding in her ears. Her pulse is still racing. "How very fucking thorough of you."

_I've ruined everything. What about Sansa? Now they'll all know we're up to something. _

Arya tries to clear her head. She can do this. Tyrion is a smart man, a reasonable man. "So what do you want?"

"What do _I _want?" Tyrion smiles slowly. "Arya, I think the question is rather what do _you _want?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why would you come to San Diego? Why would you take a false name? Why would you race in Joffrey's circuit? Why have you stayed around in a town that will never want you?"

Arya crosses her arms. "I like to race. That's why I'm here."

"Maybe that's why you came, but the question is, why have you stayed?"

_For Sansa. For Jon. For Gendry. _"Like I said, I like to race."

"You're a better liar than your father. You should be thankful for that." Tyrion sighs and rubs a small hand against the stubble on his cheek. "I won't tell Joffrey, not yet at least."

"Why not?"

"Well, to be honest, my nephew is a little shit, and I enjoy watching a scrawny girl take his money."

"I'm happy to do it."

"But-" Tyrion pauses. "But if I find out that you're up to something, if I find out that you're trying to injure or corrupt or root out anyone in my family, than I swear to you Arya Stark, you'll never race again. Your brother will never race again-"

"You-"

"Yes of course I know about Jon." Tyrion waves her off. "Now, as I was saying, I swear I will bring your family to its knees. Do you understand me? I'm sure you do. A lion protects its own, and though my claws may not be sharp, my wit is great, and my fury is greater."

When Arya meets Tyrion's eyes, she knows he's telling the truth. He'll do whatever he needs to in order to protect his family. And he knows she'll do the same. He's left her dangling on a precarious edge, a single falter away from plummeting to the ground.

"I understand," Arya says solemnly.

"Good then." Tyrion smiles and claps his hands together. "In that case, I'll see you at the races, Cat."

Arya breathes a sigh of relief as Tyrion starts to walk away, but right before reaching the door, he turns around once more.

"Oh, and Arya?" He calls out.

"What?"

"If you're trying to keep your relationship with Mr. Waters a secret, I suggest making sure your tank top is on forwards, not backwards, before greeting guests."

Arya stands dumbstruck, but Tyrion just smiles, waves goodbye, and says, "Have a nice afternoon."

**A/N ****– Sorry the chapters a little on the short side, but I didn't have room to add another scene. Bonus points for a fast update? **

**What do you guys think about Tyrion? Things might start escalating quickly now. Also, I know a couple of his lines were cheesy, but whatever, that's what fanfiction is for, right? Maybe? **

**Thanks for reading and reviewing. Love all y'all for serious. **

**AND next chapter WILL BE a SAN / SAN! So yay!**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N ****– Sorry it's been so long since the last update! I had to take this very, very, very annoying test called the GRE, so I've been studying for it instead of working on this fanfic. Obviously my priorities were not in the right place.**

**Hopefully I haven't lost your guys' attention. Here's the next chapter. It's a San x San!**

Someone knocks on the apartment door, and Sansa jumps in surprise. Her pulse starts racing, and her first instinct is to run into her bedroom and lock the door. Her entire body is bruised and beaten from last night. After cleaning her up, Sandor took her back to her apartment at four in the morning, and instead of the sleeping, Sansa spent the entire night worrying.

Everything is getting too complicated. Her plan was so clear in the beginning: find something to incriminate Joffrey and make sure he never hurts her family again. Now she has the evidence, but she doesn't know what to do with it. Now she has the strength to fight back against Joffrey, but has she just made things worse? Did she just get lucky last night? What if he's at her door right now, and what if he doesn't fight fair?

And with all of that running through her head, Sansa's thoughts keep flickering back to Sandor, to his scarred muscles, to the long tattoos wrapped around his thick, strong arms. She isn't sure why she went to him last night. At the time, it had seemed like the right decision. But now Sansa isn't so sure. Spending this much time with Sandor is confusing. Every time his dark black eyes snap in her direction, her body fills with a low, pulsing heat. At first, she went to Sandor for protection, but is it possible she wants him for more than that?

Another knock sounds on the door, and Sansa whips her head in that direction. It's nine in the morning. Joffrey should be at work right now. He should be answering questions about his black eye and the limp in his step. There's no way he's at Sansa's door. And yet, the possibility makes her stomach curl in fear.

_You're stronger than this_, Sansa reminds herself. _You're stronger than him. You don't let fear get in your way. _

Sansa takes a steadying breath before standing up and walking over to the door. She peers through the peephole and is relieved to find Margaery standing in the hallway. Her friend looks as beautiful as usual. She's wearing fitted tan pants and a lacey white blouse, and her hair is swept up in a tight bun.

Sansa opens the door and smiles. "Morning," she says, "What are you doing here this early?'

Margaery stares at Sansa, eyes wide in shock. Her gaze slowly moves over Sansa's bruised face. "He hurt you again, didn't he?"

There's no point in lying. Last week, Sansa broke down and told Margaery about Joffrey's abusive tendencies. She told Margaery about her family and about Joffrey's threats. She was nervous revealing that much to someone outside of her own family, but so far, Margaery appears to be a true and caring friend.

"Come inside," Sansa responds. She closes the door after Margaery enters the room, and they move to the couch.

Margaery immediately takes Sansa's hands. She runs her fingers over the soft skin and squeezes warmly. She stares straight at Sansa with wide, compassionate eyes. "Tell me what happened. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Of course, that's a complete lie. "I promise."

"Sansa, sweetie, you don't look fine." Margaery moves once of her hands gently over the bruised skin on Sansa's cheek. The slight touch makes Sansa flinch in discomfort. "Why didn't you call me? I could have helped you. I could have come over last night and –"

"I'm fine. I promise. It's not as bad as it looks." Sansa tries to smile. "And anyways, you should see Joffrey. I bet he's all black and blue today."

Margaery looks shocked. "You hit him back?"

"I won't be his punching bag. He can threaten me. He can blackmail me. But I won't be his punching bag. And soon enough, I won't be his anything."

"You aren't going to marry him?"

This time Sansa smiles for real. "No. I'm not going to marry him."

"I thought you had to- what about your family? Won't he send your father to jail?"

"He can't hurt my family if I send him to jail first."

Something flickers in Margaery's gaze. Her expression changes. It looks more reserved, guarded, like a blank mask. She licks her lips. Her eyes widen even more than usual, filled with innocence. "Send him to jail?" She asks carefully. "How are you going to do that?"

An excited energy starts to emerge within Sansa. Margaery can help her. She can help her find a way to use this evidence.

"I have to show you something." Sansa stands up and quickly moves towards her bedroom. She opens the bottom drawer of her dresser, lifts the pile of soft cardigans, and extracts the manila folder.

When she gets back into the living room, Margaery is also standing up. Her eyes are trained on the folder. "What's that?" She says in a closed, tight voice.

"It's my secret weapon." Sansa starts to hand the folder to Margaery, but she pauses for just a second. "I can trust you, right? I know your brother works for the Baratheons now and-"

Margaery smiles warmly. Her voice is soft and sweet. "Of course you can trust me. My brother, well, it's just a job Sansa. If he knew what Joffrey was doing to you, he would quit the company in two seconds. I haven't told him what's going on because I promised to keep your secret safe." Margaery takes a step forward, her hand lifting to reach for the folder. "Sansa, you are one of my dearest friends. I love you, and I would never betray you."

The words are affectionate and sincere, and Sansa suddenly feels very thankful that she has found such a caring friend. "Yes. Of course I trust you," Sansa replies before handing over the folder. "I'm sorry I doubted that trust for even a second."

Margaery immediately takes the folder and moves back towards the couch. She opens the file and starts flipping through the memos, her eyes quickly scanning over the words. "My goodness," she says softly when she finishes reading.

"Exactly." Sansa stands before Margaery and starts pacing the floor. "This file proves that the Baratheons purposefully left dangerous cars on the market. They covered up the accidents with hush money, and they let the car stay in production because it was so profitable. It's sick."

"It's terrible," Margaery agrees. "I can't believe it."

"I can." Sansa continues to pace, and her hands twist together anxiously. "Now the problem is- I'm not sure how to use this information. Are these memos enough evidence? Would it hold up in court? Would it send the Baratheons to jail or would they just have to pay some fine with their exorbitant amount of money?" Sansa takes a breath. "I don't want to rush into this. I want to use the information in the best way possible, but the problem is, we only have three weeks."

"Three weeks?"

"Three weeks until the wedding. If I can't incriminate Joffrey and his family by that time, I'll have to marry the bastard to keep my family safe."

"So we have three weeks."

Sansa glances at Margaery. Her friend is already rereading the memos, innocent eyes trained in concentration. "Do you think you can help me?" Sansa asks.

Margaery looks up and smiles. "You did the right thing by showing me these memos. I'll get to work right away."

Margaery's smile eases the anxiety building up within Sansa. She's so glad she has a friend. A true friend. A loyal friend.

* * *

Sansa knocks on the door of Sandor's apartment. It takes awhile for him to answer the door, and when he does, he looks confused. He's wearing dark jeans and a white tank that exposes the same muscled skin that has been on Sansa's mind all night. His feet are bare, and his face is rough and stubbled with the beginnings of a beard.

"What are you doing here?" He asks

Sansa glances at her watch. "It's two o'clock. I'm here for practice."

Sandor quickly flicks his dark gaze over Sansa's body. His eyes land on her face, and he stares intently. "You have bruises all over your body, and you still want to practice?"

"If I practice more, I'll have less bruises next time."

"Hopefully there won't be a next time," Sandor mutters.

"What?"

"Nothing." Sandor opens the door wider. "Come in then."

As Sansa enters the room, she has to sidle past Sandor's broad body. She feels an electric tension pulsing between them. Her bare shoulder grazes against his chest as she walks past him, and the slight sensation flushes her cheeks with heat.

What's happening? Is this attraction even real? Is she so deprived of male contact that she's imagining these false feelings of desire?

It's possible. Sansa has only slept with two men before. One was her long-term boyfriend in high school. He was sweet and gentle and very popular. They broke up when he left for college.

And the other was of course, Joffrey.

They slept together after their second date. Sansa wasn't ready but Joffrey was insistent. And she didn't really have a reason to say no. He was smart, rich, beautiful, and such a gentleman. Their relationship was wonderful until it wasn't. It was wonderful until Joffrey decided to drop his sickly sweet veneer and show his true self. It's been months now since they've shared a bed, and although Sansa has no desire to touch Joffrey, she still has desires. Maybe she's simply projecting them onto Sandor.

"You're fucking crazy for wanting to practice, but if it's what you want, I'm not going to stop you," Sandor says as he shuts the apartment door.

Sansa looks up at the scarred man. "The fight last night was too close. If he had gotten lucky, I could be in a hospital bed right now. I don't want to be equal with him- I want to be better than him."

"Glad to see you've finally got some fucking backbone."

"Finally? What do you mean?"

Sandor lets out a low, sharp laugh. His hard black eyes flicker with dry amusement. "I've watched Joffrey abuse you for a year now. At first just verbally and now with the hitting. He put you in a little cage, and you let him do it. You never fought back. You took it like a dumb fucking dog that thought it deserved the punishment." Sandor takes a step closer. "And now you come to me, and you say you want to learn to fight. You say you won't stand for it anymore." Sandor leans down so that his eyes lock with Sansa's, so that she can feel the warmth of his body. "I don't know how or why you grew a pair, but I'm glad you did. It was about fucking time."

"That's not-" Sandor's speech has Sansa flustered. Her face is hot with embarrassment. She must have looked like such a fool. Of course Sandor has no idea about her family. No idea about the blackmail. For all he knows, Sansa let Joffrey abuse her because she was an insipid fool in love. "That's not right," Sansa finally says. "It's not what you think."

"I'm just telling you what I've watched for a year now, nothing more. I've watched him abuse you and hit you, and you just let it happen."

A hot flood of emotion rushes through Sansa. It's not fair. None of this is her fault. It's like Sandor is accusing her of her own abuse.

She looks up at him, eyes burning with accusation. "Well then why didn't you stop it? Why did you just let it happen, watching it all like some sick voyeur? Did you like it?" She steps forward. Their bodies are now inches apart, and Sansa is breathing heavily. "Did you like watching him hit me? You didn't stop it. You never said anything. You must have enjoyed it, you sick-"

"Enough!" Sandor growls. His voice is rough and strong, and his eyes are smoldering with anger. "You don't know what you're talking about. Don't you dare accuse me of something like that."

Sansa's voice is low and biting. Her gaze is ice hard. "I'm just telling you what I've watched for a year now, nothing more."

The tension between them is palatable. Electric. Intense. Unflinching. "Not all of us have trust funds, Sansa. Not all of us can run home to daddy if we lose our job."

"Standing by while a woman gets beaten is not a job."

Sandor laughs harshly. "There are all types of jobs. And the Baratheons are powerful people, as much as I hate to admit it. Crossing them would be a fool idea, and I wasn't about to do it for some girl-"

"I'm not a girl. I'm a-"

"I know," Sandor snaps. "I know what you are godammit. But when the Baratheons have you by the balls, you aren't going to sacrifice it all for some trust fund, naïve, red-headed thing. Do you understand that?"

Sansa narrows her eyes, hit with a sudden reliazation. "You're scared of them."

"No." Sandor drops his gaze. He steps away, and Sansa can feel the tension evaporating from the room. She feels cold and empty, and she's tempted to follow his steps, to stay close to him. "I'm not scared. I'm just not an idiot. They could destroy me if they wanted to."

The thought makes Sansa pause. Maybe she's not the only person in the world being blackmailed by the Baratheons. Maybe they've tangled Sandor in their sticky web as well.

"How?" She asks softly.

Sandor smiles bitterly. "That's not a story for ladies."

"I'm bruised and battered. My muscles are sore. Do I look like a lady?"

"A strong lady is a still lady Sansa." Sandor moves towards the back of the apartment. "Drop it, and we'll practice."

But Sansa doesn't want to drop it. She wants to know what the Baratheons have on Sandor. She wants to know what could make such a strong man cower. She wants to know why he never tried to save her.

Sansa follows him into the back room. There's a small gym inside, punching bags, weights, and an old treadmill. Sandor is already strapping boxing gloves onto his hands.

"I could help you," Sansa says. "If you told me what they were threatening you with, I could help you."

Sandor glances at her. His black eyes soften for just a moment, but then his face turns like cold steel. "No one can help me," he says.

"But I could-"

His rough voice is steady, and his words make Sansa's stomach clench with unknown fear. He repeats, "No one can help me."

**A/N ****– What's that? An update? What's an update? **

**Thank you for dealing with my mini hiatus. I hope you all enjoy the chapter. I should hopefully be updating regularly again. **

**I'm still trying to work out some kinks in this sansa x sandor dynamic, so I hope you guys are liking it. **


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N ****– Here's the next chapter. We're back to Arya x Gendry. Thanks for reading!**

"I'm going to kill him," Arya says as soon as Sansa opens her apartment door. "I'm actually going to kill him."

There are fresh bruises on Sansa's soft skin and even a small, jagged cut across her temple. The sight makes Arya's fists curl with anger. She's tempted to turn around, track Joffrey down, and, "Beat the living shit out of him."

"Arya, please don't." Sansa takes her sister's hand and squeezes it gently. "Come inside. There's a lot I need to talk to you about."

"He can't keep hurting you like this. It's not worth it."

"I'm getting stronger. Trust me. I'm not the only one with cuts and bruises this time. Joffrey will think twice before touching me again."

"Yeah?" Arya crosses her arms. "What if he thinks twice and then does it anyways? It's not worth it. It's not. You could get seriously hurt. And I'm not about to let you fucking sacrifice yourself again and again."

"I won't have to. It'll only be a little bit longer now. That's what I wanted to talk to you about." Sansa moves towards her bedroom, and a minute later, she comes back with a thin manila folder. She offers the file to Arya. "Take a look and tell me what you think."

Arya moves towards the couch and sits down. She opens the file and glances at the memos. Her eyes catch words like "cover-up" "fatal" and "bribe." Arya looks up at her sister, a smile curling to her lips. "Sansa, is that what I think it is?"

Sansa nods. She's smiling too. "It's proof that the Baratheons are horrible people. Dangerous people."

"How did you get this?"

"I snuck into the office when you were racing Joffrey. I had to pick the lock the Robert's desk, and this was the only thing inside."

"The only thing?"

"Yes. Why?"

Arya's stomach tightens. She looks at the memos one last time and then passes the file back to Sansa. "You need to put this back. Right away."

"Why?"

"The Baratheons aren't that stupid, Sansa. You said there was only one file in that desk. Don't you think someone will notice that its gone missing?"

"But-"

"The Baratheons are stronger than us, as much as I hate to admit it. They have more power and more money. The only advantage we have is the element of surprise. If they realize a file like this is missing, they're going to get suspicious fast. So make a copy of these memos and put the folder back. Tonight if possible."

The color seems to have drained from Sansa's face. She takes the file back with shaking hands. "I didn't even think of that. How could I be so stupid?" She pauses. "But what about Joffrey?"

"What about him?"

"He works late all the time. What if he's at the office tonight?"

Arya bites the bottom of her lip. She already pissed off Joffrey this week. Why not do it again? It couldn't possibly make things worse. "I'll take care of Joffrey," Arya assures her sister. "He'll be out of the office by eight, all right?"

Sansa nods her head, looking a little relieved. "All right. Thank you, Arya."

"There's something else I need to tell you."

"What?"

_Might as well just come out and say it._

"Tyrion knows who I am."

"What?" Sansa asks, completely shocked. "How?"

Arya shrugs his shoulders. "He's smart. Probably smarter than us. That's why we have to be extra careful." Arya sighs and looks up at her sister. "He doesn't know what we're up to. He's suspicious, but I've told him I'm just here to race, and he doesn't know anything besides that. But we're going to have to watch our steps from now on, all right? If he finds out that we're trying to fuck with his family, well, I just can't see that ending well."

"Neither can I."

"So just be careful, all right? Watch your steps and try to act normal."

Sansa nods. "I will."

Arya glances at her sister's bruises once more, and her voice hardens. "And don't you dare let him hit you again."

"I won't. Trust me. Sandor has been working with me every day."

"Every day?" Arya swears a light blush has risen to her sister's cheeks. "I can't imagine working with that monster every day, but if he's teaching you to fight, I guess it's for the best."

"He's not a monster," Sansa says quickly, her voice higher than before. She looks down as if embarrassed. "He's a good man. Having scars doesn't make him a monster."

Something about the sound of Sansa's voice, the look in her eyes, makes Arya suspicious. "Sansa, are you-"

"Am I what?" She snaps.

Arya looks at her sister's heated gaze. "Never mind," she says slowly. "I'll see you later. Be safe tonight, and let me know how it goes."

Sansa seems relieved to drop the subject. She smiles, even though it looks a bit strained. "I will. You be safe too. I love you."

Arya nods. "We're family. Just remember that, and we'll be stronger than everyone."

* * *

Gendry is bent over the hood of a car when Arya enters the shop. His head is obscured, and he's intently concentrating on his work. Arya takes a moment to appreciate the view, eyes tracing over his long arms, the way his shirt pulls against the tight muscles in his shoulders. Her mind flashes back to earlier that day, how he used those same strong arms to pin her against the bed and-

Suddenly, Gendry stands up, catching Arya staring at him with a flushed face. "Enjoying the view?" He smirks.

"Better than looking at that ugly mug."

"You're so cute when you lie." Gendry puts down his wrench and wipes his greased hands on the front of his jeans. Arya bites her lip and looks away for a second. Ever since they slept together, she's been having trouble keeping her desire under control. Everything Gendry does seems to turn her on, and it's starting to drive her crazy. She has more important things to think about than that damn dimple under the corner of his lip.

"I'm sure," Arya responds. "I didn't come here to flirt, sorry to disappoint."

Gendry raises an eyebrow. "Oh, so you just wanted to get right to it then? You know, I've never had sex in my office, but if you're up for it-"

Arya's face starts flushing, but she tries to ignore it. "That's not what I meant either. I need your help with something."

Gendry takes a few steps towards Arya so that he's standing in front of her. He grabs her belt and tugs it so that Arya is pull forward. She can feel the heat of his body. She wants to move closer, wants to close the tiny gap left between them. Gendry leans down and brushes his lips against his ear. "I'd love to help you with something," he says. His low voice ignites raw desire within Arya. "I'm very talented."

Arya has to take a steadying breath. She did not come here for this. She doesn't have time for this. But her body doesn't want to listen. She lets out a soft moan as Gendry's teeth scrape against her jaw. His soft lips trail down her neck, and she steps forward, pressing her body against his as he starts to lightly suck on the sensitive skin. She can already feel his arousal hard against her. "Well fuck me," Arya mutters.

Gendry smiles. "Okay."

"That's not what I meant-"

Before Arya can finish her thought, Gendry bends forward and captures her lips. The kiss is long and punishing. His soft, warm lips move against her own, and she gasps as he slips his tongue inside her mouth. Her entire body responds, and she clings to Gendry's strong frame, arms wrapping around his broad shoulders and hands clutching the material of his shirt. The kiss is desperate and consuming. It feels like they've been apart for weeks even though she saw him just hours ago.

She can feel herself giving in entirely. Maybe she'll just let this happen, and then she can worry about Joffrey. Maybe she'll just-

No. She can't.

It takes all her willpower to pull away from Gendry's lips. She unwraps her arms and takes a step back, immediately regretting the decision even though it's the right thing to do. "Gendry," she says slowly, trying to calm her thoughts.

"What?" His voice is low. He's breathing heavily, and his blue eyes are hard and filled with lust.

_This is so not fair_, Arya thinks.

"I don't have time for this. I need your help, and this is not what I meant by help."

Gendry smirks. "Well maybe you should be more clear next time. Just so you know, for the future, this is what I'm going to assume you're talking about."

Arya wants to tell him to get his mind out of the gutter, but she was thinking about the same thing the second she saw him. "Okay, but for now, I need help with Joffrey."

"Now that's a good way to kill the mood." Gendry sighs. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looks down at Arya. "What is it this time?"

Arya still hasn't told Gendry about Sansa's plan to bring down the Baratheon's. It's too much of a risk. Gendry hates his father, but does he hate him enough to ruin his entire life? What if Arya tells Gendry the plan and he starts to work against her? She wants to trust him. She does trust him. But she knows trust is a dangerous game, and she doesn't want to play with her luck.

"I need more money," Arya lies.

Gendry looks skeptical. "For what? You just won three thousand dollars."

"That won't last me long between rent and car repairs and bets. You know I, uh, appreciate what you've done for me, but I can't keep living off your charity. I never even paid you for introducing me to the circuit."

"You don't have to pay me for that. Don't be silly."

Arya sighs. Of course this can't just be easy. Sometimes she forgets how stubborn Gendry can be. "Look. I just need the money, all right? But the problem is, I don't think Joffrey will race me again. Not after I beat him."

"So?"

"So you've known him longer than me. You know how he works. What would entice him?"

Gendry runs a hand through his thick hair. His face is drawn as he thinks. Finally, he says, "Joffrey is a spectator. He likes to be entertained, and he likes danger. So you'll need to do something different, something stupid enough to get his attention."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. You could race through the actual city. That'd be a risk because a cop could pull-" Arya starts smiling, and Gendry immediately stops talking. His face pales. "Fuck. I did not just suggest that." Gendry steps forward and places his hands on Arya's shoulders. He looks her in the eyes. "Arya. Do not- I repeat. Do not go race through the city. That is a really dumb fucking idea. Please forget I mentioned it."

But Arya's mind is already racing. The idea is perfect. It's stupid and dangerous and definitely entertaining. And Arya knows the perfect racer to compete against.

Gendry groans and rubs a hand over his face. "I'm a complete idiot."

Arya smirks. "At least you have your beauty." She reaches up on her tiptoes and kisses Gendry quickly on the cheek. "I'll see you later, Gendry. Thanks for the help."

Arya turns around and starts walking towards the door, but Gendry calls out, "Wait!"

She looks behind her. "What?"

"Can I at least come with you? I can't see Joffrey taking you to the hospital or bailing you out of jail if you fuck this up."

Arya bites her lip, thinking. Joffrey is already suspicious of how close she is with Gendry. And the game is really up if Tyrion tells his nephew what he knows. She doesn't want to risk getting Gendry any further into this mess. He doesn't need to get in trouble because of her own family problems.

"I don't think so," she finally responds.

"Why not?"

Arya shrugs her shoulders. "I need to do this on my own." Hurt flickers through Gendry's eyes, but there's not much Arya can do about that. She can't explain her reasoning to him because he would just get all stubborn and say he doesn't care if he gets in trouble. "I'll call you when I'm done, okay?"

"Fine." His voice is low and clipped. "Fine."

* * *

"Nymeria, come!" Arya whistles. She watches as her dog pokes its head out of the trees and then comes bounding back to her. "Good girl," Arya says, smiling, as she rubs Nymeria's soft fur. She hugs the dog tightly and buries her head in its thick coat. "Good girl," she repeats.

Arya feels bad. She hasn't had much time to spend with Nymeria since leaving home, and her dog is probably lonely without its siblings. "All this will be over soon," Arya says. "And then we'll have plenty of time together, all right?"

Nymeria barks and rubs her wet, rough tongue against the side of Arya's face. Arya laughs. "Good girl, good girl."

She's staying in a new motel now, a bit nicer than the last place. Three thousand dollars is a pretty huge hunk of money, but it won't last long if she keeps betting it. Still, Arya couldn't help but splurge a little bit. She bought a few new pairs of shorts and a couple of tanks, plus some dark blue converse. Arya was never much of a shopper, but her heavy clothes from back home aren't very comfortable in the California heat.

Arya glances at the clock on the bedside table. It's already six o'clock. It's time to make the call. She picks up her cell phone and dials Joffrey's number.

He picks up on the first ring.

"Cat," he says, voice cut and sharp.

"Joffrey." Arya continues to pet Nymeria as she speaks, hoping it'll soothe her nerves. "I have a proposition for you."

There's a long pause. "Continue."

"I'd like to challenge your hound to a race."

"If you want to race my hound, we already have a match this Friday."

"No, I want to challenge him alone, and I want it to be a street race. Through the city. Just us two. We'll each put a thousand dollars in the pot, and the winner takes it all. And it has to be tonight."

"Through the city?"

"Yes."

There's another long pause, and Arya can feel her pulse racing. There's no plan B if this goes wrong. She just has to hope that Joffrey will take the bait.

"Why tonight?" Joffrey asks.

_Fuck. Think of something. _"It's my birthday," Arya lies. "Beating your racer and taking your money would be a great present."

"You might end up spending your birthday in jail, little cat."

"I like taking risks."

"All right then," Joffrey says slowly. "But I map out the route, and the price is two thousand each, not a thousand."

_That'll leave me almost broke again if I lose. _"Fine," Arya responds. "Eight o'clock sound all right?"

"So early? The streets won't be empty."

"I told you. I like taking risks."

She can practically feel Joffrey grinning on the other end of the line. She's done it. She's propositioned something stupid enough to get his attention. "Eight o'clock it is. I'll see you tonight, Cat."

Arya smiles. "Looking forward to it."

**A/N – ****Hope you all liked the chapter. I was going to put the race in it, but it would have gotten too long, so we'll probably have another arya x gendry next chapter. **

**Thank you for reading and reviewing! You guys are pretty amazing :) **


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N ****– Thank you so much to all of the wonderful people who asked and begged and pleaded and threatened until I updated this story. Seriously I could not do it without you. I can't even list all of the names because THAT many people messaged me over the last few months. **

**So thank you for being patient and here is a new chapter, and I promise many more to come!**

**Happy New Years! I love you all!**

Arya calls Sansa, and her sister picks up on the first ring. "Did you do it?" She asks.

"I'm leaving for the race now. Joffrey should be preoccupied until at least ten. But get in and out as fast as you can."

Sansa breathes a sigh of relief. "You're a lifesaver Arya. I'm own my way home now. I'll grab the file, make some copies, and put it right back where I found it. No one will know. I'm sure of it."

"You'd better be." Arya looks at the clock on her nightstand. "I've got to go. Good luck."

"You too," Sansa says. "Drive well. Drive safe."

Arya ends the call and slips her phone into the pocket of her black jeans. She looks at Nymeria who is nestled in a pile of blankets on the bed, head resting on a fluffy pillow. Arya walks over and gives her dog a tight hug. The tension eases from her body, and she laughs when Nymeria gives her a wet kiss across the cheek.

"I'll be home soon," Arya says. "And two thousand dollars richer."

Nymeria barks softly and gives Arya another kiss.

* * *

It's 7:45 on a Tuesday night, and the roads are practically empty. Arya drives down Cajon Cross and stops when she sees two cars parked on the side of the road, their soft headlights streaming over the pavement. Arya pulls off the road and shuts off her ignition. She tugs down her hat before stepping out of the car.

"You're early," Joffrey says, eyeing Arya with close scrutiny.

"So are you," she retorts.

"Just making a few finishing touches on the route."

Joffrey has two small maps before him on the hood of his car. He's going over them with a thick black sharpie. Sandor is leaning against his own car, a lit cigarette perched between his scarred lips.

"Done," Joffrey says. He snatches the maps off of the car and hands one to Sandor. Arya takes a few steps forward and goes to take the second, but Joffrey holds the map away from her. His eyes are cold and accusing, and she stares at the dirt ground, feeling barely shielded by her cap. "Did you bring your money?" He asks.

Arya nods to her car. "Yes. Did you bring yours?"

"I always keep my side of a deal. I trust you'll do the same."

"Of course."

Arya goes to take the map again, but Joffrey still keeps it from her. "Give me your phone," he says.

"Excuse me?"

"Your phone." His voice is ice. "I won't have you looking up alternate routes while you drive. This is going to be a fair race."

"You can't have my phone."

"Then the race is off."

Arya bites her lip. _Damn him_, she thinks. She takes the phone from her pocket, double-checking to make sure the password lock is on. "Fine. Take it."

She gives him the phone, and he gives her the map. Their hands touch for just a moment. The feeling of his skin on her own makes her sick. _Bastard_, she thinks_, filthy fucking bastard. _She can't wait to beat him tonight. She can't wait to sink his entire family into the ground.

"All right," Joffrey says, glancing at Sandor and then back to Arya. "The rules are simple. Follow the route. No deviations. I'll be out there in my own car, so don't you dare think of cheating. First one to Baratheon Corporations wins the money."

Arya's mouth goes dry, and her heart starts racing. "Baratheon Corporations?" She asks.

"The finish line."

"But- why – maybe we should go somewhere else."

Joffrey stares at her like she's an idiot. "I choose the route, and the finish line is Baratheon Corporations."

"But-" Arya panics. The whole point of the race is to distract Joffrey from the building. What if they run into Sansa? And now Joffrey has her phone – Arya can't call Sansa and warn her. "Are you sure you want to meet at your own building? What if we get in trouble? What if the press hears and-"

"I choose the route, and if you have a problem, we can call the whole thing off and you can never race in San Diego again. Are we clear?"

_It'll be fine_, Arya tells herself. _Sansa will be in and out before we get close to the building. _Joffrey is staring at her with small, suspicious eyes. Arya steadies her voice and says, "We're clear. Let's start."

Arya glances at Sandor who couldn't seem less interested in the entire night. "Are you ready?" She asks.

He grunts in response.

"Great," Arya mutters under her breath. "Great."

* * *

Arya scrutinizes the map Joffrey gave her. The route shoots straight from Cajon Cross back into the city where it then proceeds to twist and turn through some of the most congested parts of the downtown area ending straight at Baratheon Corporations.

Sandor obviously has an unfair advantage. He's lived in the city for years now and is familiar with the streets. Arya has been here for less than a semester. She opens her side compartment and takes out her racing gloves, flexing her fingers under the soft material. This will be a tough race, and if she loses, she'll be out of money again. She'll have to take another shift at Burrito Bonanza.

Just that thought is enough to make Arya look forward, grip the wheel, and set her jaw. _I can do this_, Arya tells herself_, for Sansa, for my family, and for my own sanity. _

She pulls out onto the road and levels her car besides Sandor's. He turns to her and gives her a curt nod. She nods back before facing forward.

Joffrey stands in the road before them with a whistle in his mouth, and for a moment, Arya fantasizes slamming her accelerator and running him down. She can practically hear the cracking of his bones, practically see the blood splashing over the road. But unfortunately murdering Joffrey would make more problems than it would solve.

So Arya takes a deep breath and waits for the whistle.

When it does blow, she veers to the right and shoots forward, trying to leave as much distance as possible between her car and Sandor's. They're neck and neck as they blast down the road, but eventually they'll have to merge into one lane as they enter the city. And Arya plans on taking the lead.

After ten minutes of driving, the lights of the city come into view. Arya leans forward and braces herself, waiting for Sandor to do something drastic. They're still side-by-side, but that'll have to change soon. She glances at the route on the map and prepares to take a sharp right down the main drive of the city, hoping that Sandor won't manage to cut her off.

"Shit!" She screams. Just as she goes to cut the right, another car merges in front of her. And it's not Sandor. It just a citizen. She has to slam on her brakes to keep from hitting the car, and in that one moment, Sandor surges ahead, gracefully merging lanes and pulling into the lead. "Damn it!" Arya screams.

She accelerates, and another car honks at her as she cuts them off. This is going to be more difficult than she thought. There's not much traffic, but there are still plenty of cars on the road to impede her way. Not to mention the possibility of a cop around any corner.

_Is this really worth it_, she thinks as she continues to speed down the road, keeping Sandor in sight, yet not being able to catch up with him. _Is getting a ticket worth it? Or going to jail? Or hitting someone? _

She can hear Gendry in her head. _You're being stupid. You're going to get yourself killed. Stop thinking you're invincible. _

But she can also see the scars and bruises on her sister's face and the look in her father's eyes when he came home and told the family he lost his job.

"It's so worth it," Arya mutters.

And with that, she runs a light seconds after it turns red. Cars continue to honk at her, but she ignores them, keeping her eyes focused on Sandor and anything in her way. She's catching up to him now. He's stuck behind two cars, and the route says they have to keep going straight. She'll catch up to him and then—

"That bastard!" Arya screams.

Sandor turns left down an unmarked road, completely ignoring the route that Joffrey mapped out. Arya chews her lip, thinking quickly. If she cheats and Joffrey finds out, the race will be over—but she has no chance of winning if Sandor takes short cuts.

"Fuck," Arya curses, before taking a left and following Sandor down the small street. She continues to tail him through back street after back street, the lanes getting more and more narrow. She has no choice. She doesn't know her way around the city. If she loses him, she's lost for good.

But the streets get smaller and smaller, and the road gets more and more deserted. Finally the lane dead ends, and Sandor pulls to an abrupt halt. Arya has to slam her brakes, tires screeching hot against the pavement, to keep from crashing into him. Her heart is racing. Her palms are sweating beneath the gloves.

_What is he doing_, Arya thinks. The engine shuts off and Sandor steps out of his car and starts approaching Arya. Nervous anxiety races through her veins. Uncontrollable thoughts bubble to the surface. _Is he going to threaten me? Punch me? Kill me? _

Sandor continues to approach until he is standing outside of her driver's door. He knocks twice on the window and bends down so he can look her in the eye.

Arya glances in her rearview mirror. The road is empty behind her. She should reverse and drive away. But her curiosity is too great.

Slowly, she reaches for the button and rolls down the window, just a crack, so they can speak. "What are you doing?" She asks. "We're supposed to be racing."

Sandor's voice is rough. Harsh. "I know," he says. "I'm buying us time."

"What?"

"I'm buying Sansa time."

Sandor's hard eyes flicker for just a moment. He clears his throat and takes a step back from the car.

"You're what?" Arya asks, her voice raised.

"You heard me."

"You're what!"

"Don't scream, stupid Cat. It's annoying." Sandor crosses his heavy arms. "Sansa told me she needed Joffrey distracted tonight. Distracted and far away from Baratheon Corporations. So I'm buying her some time."

Arya speaks very slowly. "What else did she tell you?"

Sandor's eyes darken. "Nothing. That's it."

"Why are you helping her?"

"Why are you?" He shoots back.

"Because she's my—" Arya hesitates. At this point, she isn't sure how much Sandor really knows. What if he's playing her?

"Sister. Because she's your sister. I'm not stupid, Arya Stark."

Arya snorts. "Could've fooled me." She takes a deep breath and tries to handle the situation. Sansa has put her trust in Sandor. In a racer. In Joffrey's lackey. How can Sansa trust someone like that? Arya didn't even tell Gendry what was really happening tonight. Not the whole truth at least.

"So you're buying her time," Arya finally says.

"Yes."

"Won't Joffrey find out?"

"Fuck Joffrey." Sandor takes a step forward. "If he says something, I'll take care of it. But we're going to sit here for half an hour, and then we're going to finish the race, and you're not going to say a word. Do you understand me?"

Arya nods. "Fine."

"Good," Sandor grunts.

He starts to walk back to his car, but then Arya rolls her window down the rest of the way and leans out of it. "Hey!" She calls, and he turns around. "So, uh, is it cool with you if I just go ahead and win the race?"

Sandor stares at her with his scarred face and dark eyes. And then he lets out a low, hard laugh and a twisted smile. "Fine," he says. "Fine."

* * *

By the time they drive up to Baratheon Corporations, it's almost eleven at night. Joffrey is there, standing in front of his car, his mouth set in a hard line.

Arya gets out and tries to smile. Tries to look cocky and arrogant. Sansa is nowhere in sight, but that doesn't mean the night was a success. Not yet anyways.

"I'll have my money now," Arya says.

Sandor gets out of his car and pulls out a new cigarette. He watches from a distance.

"You cheated," Joffrey said.

"No I didn't." Arya glances at Sandor. "Look, I barely beat him. How could I have cheated?"

"It shouldn't have taken three hours. I don't know what you did, but you did something."

Arya makes her voice hard. Firm. "I didn't cheat. I won. Now give me my fucking money. We had a deal, and I won."

Joffrey clenches his fists, and Arya forces herself not to step back in fear. She knows what Joffrey can do. She knows how his temper can get out of control in seconds. But she refuses to back down.

"Give me my money," she repeats.

"Dog," Joffrey calls out, "What do you have to say about this?"

"The little bitch beat me fair and square." Sandor shrugs his shoulders. "It was a tough race. Nothing to be done."

Joffrey is caught. There's nothing he can accuse her with. But he hates admitting defeat. "Fine," he finally says. He opens his car and takes out a brown bag. He throws it hard at Arya, and she catches it tight against her chest. "I don't want to see you on my circuit again," he says.

"But-"

"If I see you out there again, I swear to god you'll regret ever stepping foot in this city."

"Fine," Arya says. There's nothing else she can say.

"Fine. Good night then, Cat."

"Wait," Arya says. "My phone."

"Oh, of course." Joffrey takes the phone out of his pocket but then drops it from his fingers. It hits the ground. "Oops," he says.

Arya bends over to pick it up, but then Joffrey lifts his foot and stomps on the phone with the hard sole of his boot, crushing it into pieces. "Oops again," he says coldly.

Arya wants to say something. Wants to punch him. Wants to kill him. But she just shakes her head and walks back to her car. She glances at Sandor for just a second, and he gives her the slightest of nods.

"Good night," she says.

* * *

With no phone, Arya can't call Sansa and check to see if everything went well, but she just assumes there were no problems. After all, Joffrey would have been twice as mad if something had gone wrong.

Arya swings by her motel and lets Nymeria out. She gives her some extra food and hugs her before getting back in the car and heading to Gendry's. She pulls up to his apartment complex, but the windows are black. She knocks on the door and there's no answer.

She feels a twinge of anxiety but ignores it. She gets back into the car and drives over to the mechanic shop. Sure enough, the garage light is on. Arya pulls into the lot and walks into the unlocked store.

Music is playing—some kind of soft rock—and Arya follows the sound into Gendry's office. He doesn't hear her come in, and she smiles, watching him for just a moment without him knowing.

He's sitting at his desk, bent over a pile of papers. There's a pencil in his hand, and he's sketching out designs, scribbling formulas. Arya had no idea he designed his own work. His brow is furrowed in concentration, and his long, muscled arms are exposed under his tank top. Arya bites her lip, feeling the lust well up within her. After a long day, Gendry looks unbelievably satisfying.

She clears her throat, and surprised, Gendry looks up. He smiles slowly, and she smiles back. "Hey," she says.

"How'd it go?" He asks.

She holds up the brown bag of money. "I won."

"That's great."

"What are you working on?"

Gendry glances down at his sketches. "Oh, nothing really." He gathers the papers into a messy stack and shoves them in a side drawer. "Nothing important."

Arya continues standing in the doorway, strangely content just staring at Gendry. His dark blue eyes are on her, and it makes her entire body feel flushed and warm. She knows she should keep her distance. She knows he's a distraction from helping her family—but she can't help it. She's already in too deep.

Gendry stands up and takes a step forward. "Are we—" he starts. "Are we all right?"

"Yeah," Arya says. "We're all right."

He takes another step forward. And then another. "Is there something you want to talk to me about?"

"No," Arya says. She steps forward too. Her lips curve into a dangerous smile. "No," she repeats. They're close to each other now. She can feel the heat of his body. The light, clean scent of soap. "I don't want to talk," she says.

Gendry hesitates for just a second before smiling. "Good," he says. "Me neither."

And then he sweeps down and captures her lips in a deep kiss. She steps forward and lets his arms wrap around her small frame. She breathes him in, kissing him again and again, letting his warm tongue slip between her lips, tease her, toy with her.

His hands travel down her back and grab her bottom, pushing her against his body, pushing her against his already hard arousal. Arya gasps. She moves her lips from his mouth to his neck and then up to his ear, breathing warm against the skin. "Good," she says, gasping again as his fingers pop open the button on her jeans, "Talking is stupid."

His hands tug down her jeans, rough and fast, and desire floods through Arya. She wants this. She needs this. "Talking is stupid," Gendry agrees. "Very, very stupid."

**A/N ****– Thank you for reading and reviewing and dealing with my ridiculously long hiatus. I promise to update much more frequently!**

**Please read and review wonderful people!**


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N - **** **guilty look** hey guys. So remember when I said I'd update eventually? So look! I did! Sorry I just made you wait forever and ever, but seriously, I really appreciated all of the reviews and pleas for my return during the hiatus. The grad school app season is winding down, season 3 is winding up, and that means this story should be regularly updated again! **

** Thank you so much for not abandoning my lovely racer and the rest of the characters. Sorry if there are any typos in this chapter but I just wanted to get it done and out to you awesome people, so I might edit it tomorrow. This will be a San x San chapter, but I think you'll like it : ) **

Sansa pulls her car into the dark parking lot and shuts off the engine. It's almost eleven o'clock at night. The area is dead silent. She slips the manila folder out of her purse and opens her car door, heading towards the front entrance of Baratheon Corporations. Arya promised to keep Joffrey far away from the building tonight so that Sansa could return the documents unnoticed.

The key is warm in her moist palm, and she fumbles with it for a moment before sliding it into the lock on the front door. Her flats pad silently against the marble floor as she makes her way to the elevator. Something about being in the building past business hours raises the hairs on her arms and sends prickles against the back of her neck. She shivers as the elevator takes her to the top floor of the building.

Robert's office is still unlocked, and Sansa laughs softly in the silence. Robert. Joffrey. Cersei. They're all idiots. So comfortable in their power and tyranny. So sure that no one would ever try to defy them. Sansa walks into the office and fiddles with the top drawer, unlocking it with a light click. She slides it open, relieved to almost be done, to be free of any suspicions, when suddenly, she spots a sheet of paper lying alone in the drawer. Thick black letters are scrawled across the single white page:

**I know what you took, Sansa. Put it back, keep your pretty little mouth shut, marry Joffrey like a good little bird, and your family will stay safe. **

Sansa gasps and takes a step back, knocking against a cabinet. A pile of books falls to the ground with a loud thump. Her heart is racing, and she has to take her breaths in sharp, short bursts. How did they know? She wore a mask the night she stole the documents. How could they possibly...

She moves forward and glances at the note again, just to be sure it's really there, just to be sure she didn't imagine the whole thing. But it's real. Concrete. The thick black letters taunting her.

_**And your family will stay safe. **_

Somehow the threat seems so much more sinister than the rest of Joffrey's promises. Nothing about suing her father or sending him to jail. No. This note is a threat, a threat to the safety of her family. Tears prick at the corners of Sansa's eyes. She thought she was finally safe. She thought she had finally won. But how can she pursue her evidence against the Baratheon's when one of them is threatening the lives of her family? It's not worth it. It's not.

The tears threaten to stream down her face, but Sansa won't let them. She rubs furiously at her eyes until they're raw and red, and then she takes a few deep breaths. She's strong. She can do this. For her family, she can do what needs to be done.

She takes the note and slips it into her purse, placing the manila folder back in its place. Its like she can feel eyes watching her from every angle. The entire building feels infested. Poisonous.

She locks the drawer, grabs her bag, and rushes back to the safety of her car.

* * *

Arya won't pick up. Sansa tries her five times in a row, but the phone seems to be disconnected. _Maybe she didn't make the last phone payment_, Sansa thinks. She needs to tell Arya what happened. Even though the note didn't mention Arya's name, she could be in danger too. It's impossible to know how much the Baratheons are aware of. Sometimes it feels like they have spies all over the city.

Sansa drives to Arya's motel. It's well past midnight now, and she should be back from her race against Sandor. She knocks on the door twice, but there's no answer. The room is dark. The blinds are shut. And Nymeria isn't barking.

A feeling of dread washes over Sansa. She tells herself to ignore it. Arya is fine. The threat was only if Sansa pursued the Baratheon's illegal dealings. But Sansa knows she won't rest easy until she knows Arya is safe. She doesn't want to be alone tonight, but with Arya missing, there really isn't anywhere else to turn.

She almost laughs at the thought of returning home to Joffrey, returning to his cold glares and his hard fists. And how could she face him tonight, not knowing if he's the one who left the note? She could call Margaery, but something about that idea makes her uneasy. Maybe she's putting too much trust in her new friend.

Sansa walks back to her car, and a quick thought flits through her mind. It's just a name. A feeling really. An impulse. _Sandor. _

Before thinking it through, she gets back into her car and drives to his apartment. She can see that his small kitchen light is on through the window, and hesitating only a moment, she knocks on the door.

Her stomach clenches when he opens the door. He's shirtless again, wearing only a pair of low-slung sweatpants, exposing the cords of his thick, scarred muscles. His broad frame fills up almost the entire doorway. There's a beer in his hand, and she can smell the sharp scent of alcohol.

Sandor's dark eyes narrow. "Little bird," he says. "What a surprise."

_Little bird._ Just like the note. The words make her shiver again, and suddenly, she can't be outside for another minute. She feels like the eyes are still on her. Everyone watching her. The Baratheons gathering around her. Preparing to strike in the dark night.

"I," she says, "I need to come in."

And then she pushes past Sandor, hand brushing just barely against his chest, as she hurries into the apartment.

"Close the door," she says. "Please."

He does as she asks and follows her back into the small room, his long legs taking swaggering steps. "I wasn't expecting you," he repeats.

The apartment seems emptier than last time. Or maybe she just didn't notice how bare it really was. No picture frames. No candles. No books. Just a glass jar of whiskey on the table and a few empty beer bottles.

"I'm sorry," Sansa says. "I...I didn't know where else to go."

Sandor takes a few steps closer to Sansa. He towers over her. The scent of the alcohol is mixed with the clean scent of his soap, and Sansa finds herself leaning towards him.

"You don't look hurt," Sandor says.

"No, I'm not. Joffrey didn't. That's not—" Sansa breaks off. Her hands are shaking. She can't tell Sandor what's wrong without revealing too much. Sure he's been helping her, but how far can she really trust him?

"I just, I just need—" She glances at the glass jar on the table. "Can I have some of that?"

Sandor grunts. A laugh, maybe. "The whiskey?"

"Yes."

He grins, the scarred skin around his mouth pulling taut. "Have you ever had whiskey, girl?"

"Yes. Of course I have."

And she had. Once. When she mixed it with an extra large cup of coke at a party.

"Help yourself then."

Sansa moves into the tiny kitchen. She can feel Sandor watching her, but something about his gaze is comforting. Protective. And somehow, even strangely arousing. She opens the cabinets until she finds a second glass. She sits down at the table and pours herself whiskey, filling the glass halfway with the dark liquid.

He's watching her, and when she looks up, their eyes meet and she feels that maybe he's finally seeing her as something other than Joffrey's pretty little chew toy.

"Join me?" She asks.

He hesitates before grunting once and moving towards the table. He takes the chair next to her and refills his empty glass. Sansa feels his leg brushing against hers under the table.

She lifts her glass and Sandor does the same. They clink them together. "Cheers," she says.

"To what?"

Sansa lets out a long sigh. "I don't know," she says. " I don't fucking know."

And then she downs the whiskey in one, long sip.

* * *

The bottle sits empty on the table. Sansa is tottering around the apartment, running her fingers against the cabinets and the drawers, opening them up as she passes, curious of Sandor's lack of possessions. He's sitting in the kitchen chair, just watching her. His slouched posture is the only sign of his intoxication.

Sansa's cheeks are warm. The cold dread has finally disappeared. She feels comfortable her in this small, empty space.

"Come on," Sansa says. "Let's practice."

Sandor snorts. "Practice?"

The room is warm. Sansa leans against the couch, fumbling a bit to take off her shoes. "We might as well. You're here. I'm here. The night is young. Let's stop the dillydallying and do some boxing."

"Dillydallying?" The word sounds even more ridiculous from his lips, and Sansa lets out a giggle.

"Come on," she says again. "I've got to learn how to beat the big bad wolf, don't I?"

Sandor scratches behind his ear. "I suppose so."

"So let's get to it."

After a bit more persuasion, Sandor follows Sansa into the tiny gym room in the back of his apartment. The mats are already laid out on the floor. Sansa jumps on them and rocks on the balls of her feet, putting her fists in the air.

"Let's practice what we did last week," she says. "I think I've really got a good punch now."

"Hmm," Sandor says. His long hair is pushed back from his face, and Sansa lets her eyes wander over his darks eyes, down to his twisted lips. Something about them is alluring. They look so much sweeter than Joffrey's soft ones.

Sandor shifts under her stares and turns around the grab the punching gloves. He straps them onto his hands and then walks towards Sansa.

"All right little bird," Sandor says. "Show me what you've practiced."

_Little bird, little bird, little bird. _She won't be the Baratheon's pet. She won't let Joffrey touch her. If she has to marry him, she will. She'll protect her family no matter what. She can do it. But she won't let him lay a hand on her for the rest of their lives. She'll lie like a wolf in their bed each night, and if he tries to touch her, she'll bite.

Sandor holds up the gloves, and Sansa raises her arms higher. Her balance is off from the whiskey, but her body is on fire. She can feel the strength rushing through her. It feels good. It feels right.

She lunges forward and _**punch, punch, punch. **_Again and again and again. The punches land hard. Sandor even stumbles back once. And she keeps going and going even as sweat drips from her brow and her arms start to shake. _**Punch, punch, punch. **_She won't let Joffrey cage her into submission. He can marry her, but he can't have her, and he'll never own her. She'll make sure of that.

_**Punch, punch, punch**_. Sandor is walking backwards now, and she's following him across the room, managing to land punches as the move and circle the perimeter of the room. She's never felt so strong. So in-control. Sandor misses a step, and his back lands against the wall. Sansa slams a final punch, and with a hard bang, his hand smacks against the wall.

She's breathing heavily. Her body is exhausted and running with an electric current at the same time. "Sorry," she breathes. "Sorry. Carried away."

Sandor lowers his hands. They're standing less than an inch from each other. Her head is just up to his chest, which is coated in a sheen off sweat. It feels strange to have Sandor backed against a wall. It feels good. He's staring at her with dark eyes, and her entire body feels like fire, and she knows that if she doesn't do something to quench the—

She leans forward and presses her lips against his chest. The skin is hot. Moist. She continues to move her mouth against the skin, placing slow kisses across his chest, hands at her side, itching to touch him in the same way. She moves even closer and then lets her fingers brush against the skin just over his sweatpants, and then she sweeps her mouth across one of his nipples.

That's when he groans. It's deep and low and arouses Sansa in way she didn't know was possible. She flecks her tongue across his nipple, and he does it again, and then he suddenly grabs her by her hair and yanks her head back.

"Stop playing games," he says. His eyes are burning.

"I'm not." Desire is flooding through her. It's never been like this before. She's never wanted someone so desperately. "I'm not," she repeats.

"You have no idea what you're doing."

Her hands are still brushing across his warm skin. She needs more. "Yes, I do."

"No you don't."

"Yes, I—"

And then he suddenly flips her around so that she's backed against the wall. His chest is crushed against hers, and his mouth is hot against her ear, and she can feel his desire hard against her stomach. "No, you don't," he growls. And then he bites the bottom of her earlobe, and then he moves down and sucks harshly against her neck, and his hands seem to be everywhere at once, gripping her thighs, rubbing against her arms, pushing through her hair.

He breaks off suddenly. He looks wild, crazed. "You don't want this."

But her own body is pulsing with desire, flooded with heat, and for the first time in her life, Sansa knows that she wants to do something for herself, that she can do this one thing for herself without thinking about the consequences for anyone else. She steps forward and tugs Sandor's sweatpants.

"Yes," she says. "I do."

**A/N – Okay don't kill me for ending it here. I wasn't feeling the full-fledged sex scene for them. If enough of you guys insist, I'll add it later in a continuation or a flashback. **

**Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I promise that I'm 98% sure that I'll update again in the very near future : ) **


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N ****– Two updates within in a week! At this rate, maybe I'll finish the story before Winds of Winters comes out (haha jokes – if I don't finish it by then, you all have permission to send as much hate mail as you want). **

**Again, I'm sure there are typos in here. Let me know if any of them are jarring or not. I'm a lazy proofreader when I write fic because I do it to relax. **

**This is an Arya x Gendry chapter. Enjoy!**

Arya wakes up curled against Gendry's bare chest. She keeps her eyes closed, snuggling into his warmth. His steady breathing relaxes her. Soothes her. It's so different from everything else in her life – faced-paced racing, risky blackmail, lying to her family.

She opens her eyes, soaking in his exposed skin, the sharp lines that lead down to his sweatpants. Her fingers slowly trace a line from just beneath his bellybutton up to the crook of his neck. His breathing changes, just barely, and he shifts in his sleep. Arya leans forward and plants a warm kiss against the side of his neck and then nuzzles herself closer against him for just a second more before prying herself out of the warmth of the bed.

Her clothes are scattered all over the floor. They had sex at his office last night, and when they came back to his apartment to sleep, they had sex again, just as frantic and desperate as the previous time. She likes gripping onto the hard planes of his body, threading her fingers through his hair, clutching and tugging. He's always so stable. If she presses against him, even pushes him, he pushes right back so that they're always at an equilibrium.

Arya picks through the clothing, slipping on her jeans without underwear because she doesn't have a clean pair hanging around. She throws back on the same bra and shirt from yesterday and finds her shoes tossed in the corner of the room. As she turns to leave, Gendry shifts once more in the bed, barely cracking his eyes, peering at her in the early morning light.

"Get back here," he says. His low voiced, graveled with sleep, tugs at Arya. The same desire as always reemerges, and as always, it's stronger than ever.

She chews her lip and pulls her eyes away from his bare torso. "I can't," she says. "Go back to sleep. I'll see you later."

"Where're you going?"

"Just a few errands. I'll be back soon," she says.

Gendry's eyes harden, just slightly, but it's enough to tighten her stomach with tension. She can't keep evading him like this – not necessarily lying – but not telling him the truth either. It's wrong. He trusts her with everything, and she leaves him with nothing.

"We'll talk tonight, okay?" She asks. "I'll make dinner, and we'll talk."

"You don't cook."

"Right, well, I'll buy us dinner, and we'll talk."

He lets out a quick sigh, but she can feel him relenting, like he always does, stretching further and further for what she wants.

"Fine," he says. "Tonight."

* * *

Sansa won't pick up her cell phone, and she's not at her apartment. Arya's nerves twist with anxiety. It's barely eight in the morning. Where else would Sansa be at this time of day?

Joffrey didn't leave the race in a good mood last night, and Arya has a terrible feeling that he took that anger out on Sansa. She's been taking those stupid fighting lessons with Sandor, but have they really made her stronger than Joffrey and his fist of expensive rings? Arya picks up her motel phone and calls Sansa again. The phone rings and rings until it hits voicemail.

Arya leaves a quick message, "Hey, it's me. Just trying to get in touch after last night. My cell phone was, ah, broken by a certain blonde prick. Um, I guess you can call me back at this number."

She's rarely at the motel, but it's a better option than giving her Gendry's number and having them talk to each other without Arya's knowledge. Arya hangs up the phone and drums her fingers nervously against the bedside table. Nymeria whines from her corner on the bed, stands up, and lumbers over to Arya.

"Hey, girl," Arya says, nuzzling her face into Nymeria's soft fur, breathing deeply. Nymeria gives her a wet lick across the cheek and then barks twice. "I'll bet you're bored," Arya says. "I'm sorry I've been so busy."

She glances at the silent phone and realizes she can't sit in the motel room waiting all day. Waiting isn't her style. "Come on," Arya tells Nymeria. "Let's go visit a friend."

* * *

"You could've called ahead of time," Jon says when he opens the door.

Ghost bolts outside, and he and Nymeria immediately head for the small patch of woods surrounding Jon's apartment complex.

"Sorry," Arya says. Jon's wearing boxers and a days-old beard. "I guess I forgot how early it is. I've been up for awhile."

"And I just got to sleep a couple hours ago," Jon says, but he opens the door wider and lets Arya inside.

"What were you doing up so late?"

"Practicing. I like the roads empty and dark. Have you ever shut off your headlights and driven by the moon?"

"No, but next time I want to die in a fatal car crash, I'll give it a try."

"Funny," Jon says. "Moon's bright enough if you drive far out. And the roads are empty for miles."

"Sounds nice," Arya says, only half-listening. "Look, have you heard from Sansa?"

Jon sits down on the couch, and Arya sits on the opposite end. She tucks her knees under her chin and wraps her arms around her legs.

"Sansa?" Jon asks. "No, we never talk. You know that."

"Oh," Arya says. "Okay."

Jon's eyes narrow. He scratches his scraggly beard. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Well, you know all that stuff we were talking about earlier? With Sansa, and Joffrey, and –"

"The blackmailing of our entire family. Yeah, didn't exactly slip my mind, Arya."

It's becoming obvious that sarcasm ran in the family. "Yeah, well, last night Sansa was, well, let's just say she was breaking back into Baratheon Corporations to return a file she had previously stolen that contained incriminating information on the Baratheons."

Jon shifts in his seat, clears his throat, and says, "Go on."

"And let's just say I was racing Sandor last night to distract Joffrey from figuring anything out, and let's just say I won that race and Joffrey was pissed, and he broke my cell phone, and I haven't been able to get in touch with Sansa since then."

"That's a lot of hypothetical," Jon says.

Arya scratches behind her ear. "So what should we do?"

"_We_?"

"Jon, I thought we talked about this earlier. I know, I realize, look, I'm sorry about what happened between you and mom. Okay? It sucks. It's not fair. But don't let that stop you from having a relationship with the rest of your family. This is your sister. Sansa is your sister. I know you two never got along, even before Bran, but she's your sister, and she could be in trouble."

Jon's eyes darken, and for a second, Arya thinks he's going to scream and tell her to get the hell out of the apartment. But instead, in a guarded voice, he says, "Fine. What can I do?"

"I have an idea," Arya says. "Now just hear me out."

* * *

It takes awhile to persuade him, but finally Arya persuades Jon to call up Joffrey and ask for an impromptu race. "It'll be perfect," Arya says. "I'll swing by his place while he's gone and check for Sansa. And while you're with him, you can casually ask where she is or something." Jon looks a little sick at the prospect, but Arya just slaps him on the back and says, "You're smart. You'll figure something out."

She waits half an hour to drive by Joffrey's, just to be on the safe side. But when she arrives, the apartment looks dark and empty. She knocks twice just to be sure, but no one is home.

"Damn," Arya mutters, not knowing if this is good news or bad news.

She drives by Sansa's place one more time, but she still isn't home. So next she swings by Wal-Mart to pick up a new phone, choosing the cheapest model possible. She might have made a pretty sum of money last night, but it isn't going to last her long now that she's kicked off of the circuit.

As soon as she connects the phone, she calls Jon's number. "Any luck?" She asks.

He whispers, "Still with him, and no. Hasn't seen her for a day." The line immediately clicks silent.

Arya tries Sansa's number again, knowing it'll only go to voicemail, but shockingly, on the third ring, she picks up.

"Hello?" She asks. Her voice sounds coated with sleep even though it's now well into the afternoon.

"Sansa!" Arya says. "It's me, Arya. New phone. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Sansa says. "Look, can I call you later? We need to talk, but—"

"Where are you?"

There's some muffled shuffling in the background. "Look, I can't really talk right now, I'm at—"

Arya can hear a distinctly male voice in the background. She tenses, anger creeping in on her. "Sansa," she says slowly, "Have you been ignoring me all day because you had a fucking booty call last night? Where are you? Who is it? Don't you realize that—"

"Look, Arya, I have to go. Meet me tomorrow morning at my place."

And then she was gone, the line silent.

"Fucking hell," Arya mutters. "I hate sisters."

* * *

Arya picks up Chinese take-out and heads back to Gendry's apartment. The entire day seems like a giant blur, and somehow the sun is already dipping beneath the horizon. He opens the door on the first knock, still wearing his sweatpants from that morning.

"Wasn't sure you were coming," he says, walking back into the apartment, leaving her to trail behind him.

"Did you stay here all day?"

"Worked from home."

Arya doesn't see how that's possible considering Gendry's a mechanic and can't store any cars in his tiny apartment, but she let's the comment slide. "Here," she says, offering him the bags which contain enough food for six people. "Hope you're hungry."

She grabs plates, and they sit at the table, silently swirling around untouched food. _This is why relationships suck_, Arya thinks. _I have this incredibly stressful day, and now, instead of relaxing with a nice round or two of sex, I have to deal with his emotions too. _

Of course she'd never say that out loud. It'd make her sound like a monster. But it's the truth, and lying about it only seems to make it harder.

Arya finally puts down her chopsticks and says, "Look. I haven't been entirely honest with you."

"No shit," Gendry says. His blue eyes are hard as steel, missing the warm teasing she's so used to.

"But it's not my fault," Arya says, stumbling over her words. "Okay, it's partially my fault, but not all secrets are my secrets to tell, you get that, right? And it's hard looking out for everyone at the same time, and I'm just trying to do the right thing here."

Gendry stays silent, arms crossed, waiting for her to continue. Arya chews her lip, weighing her options. She should speak to Sansa first before spilling all their secrets, but at the same time, Gendry already knows so much. How could filling him in on the rest of it hurt in any way? She glances at his cold eyes. She has a feeling if she _doesn't_ tell him now, he won't be around to listen tomorrow.

"Okay," she says finally, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I wish I could have told you all this earlier, but like I said, it's complicated, but...but you're Gendry, and I'm Arya, and I can trust you."

It comes out more like a question than the statement she had meant, but she blunders on anyways, telling him everything, rehashing the blackmail of her father all the way up to stealing the incriminating file of the Baratheons and replacing it last night, even the strange way Sansa had been acting today.

Half-way through her speech, she stands up and starts pacing the room, and Gendry follows her with his eyes, silent, but receptive. When she finally finishes, she's short of breath, and part of her thinks she's going to puke. _This is it_, she thinks. _It's too much. I've piled on too much, and now we're over, and I should be thankful for it._

Gendry stands up slowly and walks towards her, his eyes unreadable. He stops moving when they're only a few inches apart.

"I—" Arya starts to say.

But Gendry cuts her off and says, "Shut up." He takes another step forward so that she can feel the heat of his body radiating towards her, and then he says, "You're Arya, and I'm Gendry. And you can trust me."

And then they're suddenly reaching for each other, lips desperate, kissing, long, deep kisses, tongues warm and sweeping between each other's pliable lips, arms wrapped tightly around each other so that they can feel each other's heartbeats synching in time.

Gendry's lips are warm and sweet, better than anything Arya has ever felt before, and she can't imagine anything better than standing there, clinging to his body, kissing him, finally knowing that she trusts him, that she—

"What is it?" Gendry asks as she pulls away. His lips are flushed, and his eyes are once again warm.

"I—" The words are on the tip of her tongue, but she can't say them. She knows they're true. Looking into his eyes, she knows they're more true, more real, than anything else in her life. But she can't say them. Admitting it would almost be like breaking off a part of herself, stripping off another shred of her independence. "Nothing," she finally says. Her fingers toy with the band of his sweatpants. "Let's go to your room," she says. "Or the couch. Or the table."

Gendry grins, and it's a wicked grin that helps wash away some of Arya's misgivings, and definitely peaks her desire. He steps forward, pressing her backwards, warm hands tracing her bottom through her jeans, pushing her back until she hits the edge of the -

"Table," Gendry says. "Definitely table." He presses kisses against her neck, her collarbone, her ear, and then he suddenly growls, "Take off your pants."

She does so immediately, fumbling with the button for only a second before stripping and tossing them to the ground. Her shirt follows. His sweatpants. Her bra. His boxers. And then his large hands wrap around her naked bottom, and he lifts her on top of the table.

His erection is pressing against her thigh, and she feels desperate for him, as if being with him will fix everything. "I need you," she says, "Now."

Their lips clash together as he pushes inside of her again and again. She doesn't bother keeping quiet. Each time Gendry shouts her name, it builds her arousal, and she knows it does the same for him. The table shakes beneath them, but Arya doesn't give a shit if it breaks. Right now she doesn't care about anything except for this wonderful feeling.

They're bodies are slick with sweat, and her fingers keep slipping, trying to find something firm to clasp onto, fingernails scratching down his back as he moves within her. It's rough and fast. Not at all like their first time, but just how she likes it, and she can feel her orgasm peaking quickly.

"Almost there," she says, her voice coming out low and panting. "Almost—"

Gendry cuts her off, crashing his lips against hers, pumping into her one last time as they come together. He shudders, and his body collapses over hers, damp cheek against her own.

He angles his head so that he can place a few chaste kisses against her moist skin. They stay like that, arms wrapped around each other, bodies spent, exhausted, breathing slowly together.

**A/N ****– Things are going to be heating up soon as all of these plots start piling on, so get ready for it. A lot of you had guesses for who wrote the note Sansa found, but (evil laugh), you'll have to wait and see.**

**As always, thank you for reading and reviewing! Sansa chapter next? Or Arya? Any preferences?**


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N – ****So the votes were basically split down the middle for an Arya or Sansa chapter. I decided to write a Sansa one since her plot line is getting a little more complicated than earlier on in the story. But I'm glad to hear that you guys seem to love both characters equally! **

**Also this is a bit of a plot chapter so sorry for the denseness ahead of time! Thanks for reading!**

Sansa wakes up to a pounding headache. Her eyes are thick with sleep, and it takes her a few moments to focus on her surroundings. She's curled up on a couch with only a thin blanket draped across her body. Midday light is streaming through the window. She tries to stand up, but her stomach clenches uneasily, and the room spins around her.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," she mutters. Last night is a blur. She remembers seeing the note, driving herself into a panic, drinking whiskey with Sandor...

The details are fuzzy. Almost in black and white. Or like a movie she saw a long time ago. There are only snippets that she can grasp onto. Slick skin. Hot lips. Her back pressed against the cold wall. His large hands running down her arms. Her pulling him towards his bedroom. Not desperate, but consumed with need. Him –

_"No, little bird." _

_ "Why?"_

_ "You're drunk."_

_ "As are you."_

_ "More the reason."_

_ Her tugging him again and again. Lips and teeth scraping against his skin. Hands wandering. Coaxing. Begging._

_ Him growling. "Enough." Pushing her away. "Enough." Retreating alone to his room and slamming the door shut behind him. "Enough." _

Sansa feels as if she should be embarrassed, but she's not. Maybe her mind is still thick with last night's whiskey, but the only regret she has is not pushing him further. He wants her. She knows it. She sees it in his eyes. In his tense stance. In the distance he keeps when they're in the same room. And why should he keep himself at such a distance? Her engagement is a farce. Her life is crumbled into pathetic pieces. Why shouldn't she succumb to this base desire?

She runs her fingers through her red hair, pulling out the few knots and tangles. And then she stands from the couch and circles the small room. The apartment is empty. Sandor must have left hours ago. There's no note on the table. Nothing.

Sighing, Sansa grabs her bag and leaves. It's already late afternoon by the time she returns to her apartment. She runs a hot bath and pours in lavender oils. She dims the lights, steps into the steaming water, and tries her best to relax. But when she closes her eyes, she can see the thick black scrawl of the note dancing before her vision:

_**I know what you took, Sansa.**_

* * *

Someone knocks three times on her apartment door, rousing Sansa from her soak in the tub. She must have fallen asleep because her fingers and toes are wrinkled, and the water is barely room temperature. Dreading the worst, Sansa grabs her robe and slowly pulls herself out of the tub.

_Maybe it's just Arya_, she tells herself. _Just Arya. Checking in. It'll be fine. _

She cinches her robe tight around her waist and heads to the door. She looks through the peephole, expecting to see Joffrey's beady eyes glaring at her, but shockingly, it's Sandor standing there. He's wearing jeans and a leather jacket, and his thick arms are crossed stiffly across his chest.

Sansa looks down at her robe. It falls past her knees, but the silk material doesn't leave much to the imagination, clinging to her breasts and hips. Normally she would go and change before answering the door, but at this point, there's no chance of establishing normalcy anyways.

She opens the door. Sure enough, Sandor's dark eyes slide over her body. She feels herself leaning into the gaze instead of shying away from it. It feels strange to be admired by someone so different than Joffrey. Strange, but intoxicating.

"Come in," she says, making room for Sandor to walk into the apartment. "You were gone when I woke up," she says.

"I had business to take care of."

"What kind of business?"

Sandor turns to face Sansa. This time he keeps his eyes strictly on her own. "We're going to stop our lessons," he says.

"What?" This is the last thing Sansa expected—not that she was expecting Sandor to come over and declare his love, but this is so far off from— "Absolutely not," she responds. "I need those lessons. And there's no reason to stop."

Sandor barks out a harsh laugh. "Stupid little bird," he says.

Sansa's phone starts ringing, and she distractedly answers it. Her sister is on the other line, "Sansa! It's me, Arya. New phone. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, look can I call you later? We need to talk, but—"

Sandor walks towards the door, and Sansa whispers, "Wait!"

"What for?" He growls.

"Where are you?" Arya asks.

"Look, I can't really talk right now. I'm at—"

"I'm leaving," Sandor says.

"Sansa," Arya says, "Have you been ignoring me all day because you had a fucking booty call last night? Where are you? Who is it? Don't you realize that—"

Sandor is about to walk out the door, so Sansa quickly says, ""Look, Arya, I have to go. Meet me tomorrow morning at my place."

And then she ends the call and turns towards Sandor. "I said wait," she says, surprised by how commanding her voice comes out. She walks up to him, wishing she were taller so she could look him directly in the eye. "Now you can't just come to my apartment, making decisions that affect me, and leaving without an explanation. That's not how things work. You have to have a conversation, you can't just—"

Sandor leans down so that their faces are just inches apart. His eyes are as dark as coals. "That's where you're wrong, _child. _I can do whatever I want. Be thankful you've even gotten this courtesy."

Frustration, _anger_, bubbles up within Sansa. It's not fair. It's not _okay. _Joffrey treats her like a plaything, and she pretends to let him in order to protect her family, but that doesn't mean that Sandor can do the same. She's sick of other people making decisions for her.

"No," Sansa says, her voice loud and firm. "Don't come storming in here saying you're _done _because you can't handle what passed between us last night. And don't act as if you don't know what I'm talking about. You're pathetic. And you're scared. And you're worse than Joffrey because at least he goes after what he wants instead of cowering in a corner like a whipped dog." She takes another step forward so that their chests are brushing against each other's, and she can feel the heat of his body, the frustration, rolling off in waves. "Now if you don't want to teach me anymore because you think I'm a poor student, then I accept your resignation. But otherwise, we're going to continue to practice until I'm stronger and faster, and you're going to stop acting like a pathetic animal that's been abandoned by its bitch mother."

_Too far_. Sansa knows it as soon as the words leave her mouth. She knows Sandor comes from a terrible family, not that she knows any of the details. But the look in his eyes tell her she's overstepped her boundaries. His eyes darken and narrow, and Sansa's stomach clenches in fear.

"Stupid, worthless little bird," he says. His breath is warm against her cheek and his glare is cold and cruel. "No more lessons," he says.

He pushes her forward, making room to open the door. "I'll see you at your wedding," he growls. And then he laughs cold and harsh and storms away, slamming the door shut behind him.

* * *

Sansa wakes up the next morning to a loud knocking on her door. She opens the door to find Arya dressed and wide-awake.

"What time is it?" Sansa asks, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Almost seven," Arya says. "Now would you please tell me what the fuck is going on?"

Sansa glances into the hallways. It's empty. Silent. And yet she still feels like someone is watching her every move.

"Here," Sansa says. She grabs the note from her purse and hands it to Arya. "This was sitting in the drawer when I went to return the file. I tried calling you right after it happened but—"

"Joffrey broke my phone." Arya gives her a sharp look. "Not that it excuses why you wouldn't pick up your phone all day yesterday."

Arya collapses on the couch, feet propped against one of the arms, and quickly reads the note. Her face tightens, and she looks back up at Sansa. "Jesus," she breathes. "How? How could someone possibly know it was you?"

"I don't know," Sansa says. "I was even wearing I mask when I took the file in the first place. And you're the only person who knows where I was."

"And Sandor," Arya says. "When I was racing him that night, he pulled me over to stall for time. He knew we were trying to distract Joffrey, and he knew who I was."

"We can trust him," Sansa says, though she's not sure if she believes her own words. "Besides, I never told him what I was doing or where I was going. I only told him that I needed Joffrey to be preoccupied. And I _never_ told him who you were."

"Yeah, so he just figured that out on his own?" Arya challenges.

"Maybe you're not as sneaky as you think you are."

"Maybe you're dumb."

"Maybe you're an idiot."

"Maybe you're—"

Sansa's phone rings. She glares at Arya before answering it.

"Hello?" She asks.

"Sansa! There you are!"

"Oh." Sansa's voice tightens. "Hi, mom."

Arya mouths, _put it on speaker. _

Sansa sets the phone on the table and presses the speaker button. Their mother's voice pierces the apartment. "I've been trying to get in touch with you for days now," Catelyn says. "Why haven't you been answering your phone?"

"I'm sorry, mom. I've just been really busy with uh, work and what not. I'll do better. I'm sorry. How are you?"

"Well your father and I just received a very interesting invitation in the mail." Catelyn clears her voice. "The Stark family is warmly invited to the union of Joffrey Baratheon and Sansa Stark."

"Shit," Arya says.

"Arya? Is that you?"

"Shit, shit, shit," Arya mutters. She raises her voice. "Hey, mom. Yeah it's me."

"Shouldn't you be in class right now?"

"Oh, um, well, my morning section was cancelled, and—" Arya trails off. "That's not really important, you know, considering this whole wedding thing."

_Thanks a lot Arya_, Sansa mouths.

"Girls," Catelyn says. "What's going on? Why is there a wedding happening in two weeks that I've just found out about? Sansa, why didn't you call me as soon as you set a date? You know we weren't happy about this engagement in the first place, and now, to get married so quickly without consulting us—I just don't understand. You've always been the mature one, and now you're making this rash decision."

Sansa had been praying that her mother would never find out about the impending wedding. She kept telling herself that she would find a way to break off the engagement, find a way to protect her family. But the reality of the situation is hitting her hard. The wedding is only two weeks away. Apparently someone already sent out invitations without her even knowing. And now, the only blackmail she has on the Baratheons is being used against her instead of the other way around.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I know. I should have called." Her voice is tight. _I won't cry_, she thinks. _I'm stronger than that. _

Arya steps forward and clasps Sansa's hand lightly in her own. Even though they were fighting moments earlier, the touch is now warm and soothing. And for the first time, Sansa is truly glad she has her sister by her side.

"She wanted it to be a surprise," Arya interrupts. "She didn't want dad to stress for months, and she was going to book you all a really nice hotel, and we were going to get spa treatments together."

Arya nudges Sansa.

"Yes," Sansa said. "Like Arya said. I thought I could make it nice if I kept it a surprise, but I see now that it was a terrible idea. I'm really sorry."

Catelyn sighs. "It's all right. I just wish I could see you girls and talk about this before, well, before the wedding."

There's nothing Sansa would rather do than fly back home and curl up in the comfort of her parents' home. But she knows that's not an option. Joffrey would seek revenge on her entire family.

"We already had tickets to fly down," Catelyn continues. "But we'll only get there a day early."

"That's all right," Sansa says. "I can't wait to see all of you. I miss you so much."

"We miss you too, love. And you, Arya."

"Two weeks will fly by," Arya says. "We'll see you soon."

But that's what Sansa fears most. Two weeks will fly by. In two weeks, Joffrey will be slipping a wedding band on her finger, and they'll be swearing false vows of love and devotion, and she'll be chained to him forever.

As soon as they hang up the phone, Sansa lets out a deep breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She feels faint and slowly lowers herself to the soft couch cushions.

"Are you all right?" Arya asks.

Sansa gives her a tiny nod.

"Good, because we really need to sort out all of this shit. I can't believe you waited until today to tell me about this note. I don't care how attractive that man was yesterday—there's no excuse to just—"

"Okay, Arya," Sansa says. "I get it. Now let's move on."

Arya crosses her arms. "Fine," she says. "So what are we going to do? Who left the note?"

"I don't know," Sansa says. The phrase _little bird_ keeps playing in her mind. Sandor always calls her that. _Pretty little bird. Stupid little bird. _

But he couldn't have left the note. For one, it would be much too obvious with a turn of phrase like that. And also, why would he threaten her family? He hates Joffrey and his family as much as she does.

"Maybe Margaery," Sansa says before thinking it through.

"Margaery? Why would she—" Arya rounds in on her sister. "Sansa, you didn't. Please tell me you didn't do something so stupid."

"Look, Margaery has only been kind to me."

"You showed her the file," Arya accuses.

"I did."

Arya throws her hands up in the air and huffs, "Well problem solved! The great detective has done it again!"

"Look," Sansa says. "We can't just assume it's Margaery."

"Why not? It makes perfect sense. Her brother and Joffrey are all buddy buddy. Of course she'd snitch on us. I bet Loras even got a handsome raise for it."

"Margaery is my friend." Sansa's voice quavers just the tiniest bit. "I trust her."

"Doesn't sound like it." Arya sighs and throws herself back down on the couch. "If it wasn't Margaery, than who else was it? Like you said, you wore a mask when you snuck into the building. No one else knew you were there."

"I know," Sansa says. "I know. But maybe we're missing something."

"Or maybe Margaery is a lying, conniving, evil, fucking bitch."

"I just don't think we should jump to conclusions. And it doesn't matter anyways, does it? The threat stands no matter who it's from. If I don't marry Joffrey like a good little bird, our entire family is in danger."

"You're not marrying that stupid little blonde prick," Arya says. "I won't allow it."

Even through the harsh words and insults, Sansa can hear Arya's love. They're both just trying to protect each other, even if they go at it in different ways. "There's nothing else to do," Sansa says softly.

"You made photocopies of the reports, right?" Arya asks.

"Right. I have them hidden."

"Well I don't see why we still can't just turn the whole lot of them in. See how they can threaten us from jail."

"Don't be dense, Arya. I don't think that note is a threat to be taken lightly."

Arya chews on her lower lip, her brow tensed in thought. "I'll figure something out," she says. "I promise. Just give me a day or two to think."

Sansa has a feeling there's no way out of this situation, but it's fine by her if Arya wants to try. "All right," she says. "All right."

Arya stands back up and heads towards the door, a new, determined look on her face. She turns around at the last second and suddenly asks, "So. Where were you yesterday? Who's the mystery guy?"

Sansa clears her throat and looks away. "Just some guy," she says, though Sandor is anything but _some guy. _"Don't worry about it."

"Okay," Arya relents. "I'll talk to you soon." She leaves the apartment and closes the door shut behind her.

When Sansa is finally alone, she breathes a sigh of relief. The last thirty-six hours have been incredibly stressful, and the only thing she wants to do is crawl back into bed and sleep away the rest of the day. But as she heads towards her bedroom, the phone rings again.

She's tempted to let it go to voicemail, but when she checks the caller ID, she's surprised to see who it's from.

She picks up the phone. "Robb?"

His voice is warm. Comforting. "Hi, little sister."

"It's so good to hear from you."

"Yes, well, I've just had a nice little chat with our mother. And then I had a not-so-nice chat with Jon. So, turns out, you'll be seeing me in two days."

"Two days?" Sansa asks, startled.

Robb laughs over the line. "I can't let you, Arya, and Jon do all the espionage alone, now can I?"

"How did you—" Sansa starts. "How much do you know?"

"I know enough," Robb says. "And I'll see you very soon because it sounds like you need an extra Stark on your side."

"I guess we do," Sansa says.

"No more worrying," Robb says. "This time next week, the Baratheons and Lannisters will be begging us for mercy. I promise it."

**A/N ****– Hoped you guys liked the ending! I think it's about time for the Starks to band together, don't you? **

**Thanks for reading and reviewing, and enjoy the season premier tomorrow!**


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N ****– As predicted, the season premiere of Game of Thrones has inspired me to update ridiculously quickly on this story. I can't wait to see Arya & Gendry in next week's episode! But until then – here's a new chapter! And I thought everyone could use a breather from all of the stress & plotting & talking & danger, so it's a bit of a fluff chapter that I think you guys will really enjoy : )**

Arya wakes up to Nymeria barking at the door. She groans and rolls over in bed, burying her head deeper in the pillow. After meeting with Sansa yesterday morning, she spent the entire day talking strategy with Gendry and getting nowhere. Some time around midnight he said, "Arya, either you can shut up and take your pants off, or you can go back to your motel and be a basket case by yourself."

"Very supportive," Arya had said.

"It's for your own sanity, I promise. I'm just trying to help. You aren't going to come up with a plan to overthrow the Baratheons in one night."

"That's what you think."

But Gendry had been right. Arya ended up wasting hours and hours in her room, absently petting Nymeria, and jumping from scenario to scenario, each more ridiculous than the last, finally falling asleep around six in the morning while dreaming of poisoning Joffrey's wine at the wedding rehearsal.

Nymeria's barking is insistent, and someone won't stop knocking on the door, so Arya huffs loudly and hauls herself out of bed. She whips open the door and Nymeria bolts outside.

"Morning," Gendry says.

Arya eyes him suspiciously. He's cleanly shaven and wearing dark jeans and a rather tight black shirt that pulls taut across his chest. "Well don't _you_ look well rested," she says.

"And you look like shit," Gendry responds.

"Charming."

"Hard not to be when it comes so naturally." Gendry strides into the room and throws himself down on the bed, hands tucked behind his head. "Did you sleep at all?"

"A little."

"Mhmm." He sits back up and clasps his hands together. "Okay, here's what's going to happen. You're going to shower, put on a bathing suit, and pack a bag. Then you're going to call Jon and ask him to take care of Nymeria for the night. And then you're going to get in my car."

"I am?" Arya asks.

"You are."

She stares at him for a long minute, waiting to see if he's going to explain or say anything else.

When he doesn't, Arya mutters, "Fuck it," and goes to get in the shower.

* * *

There's a sleek black sports car waiting in the parking lot outside of Arya's motel. The glossy paint shines under the afternoon sun, and Arya has a feeling there's an engine worth thousands and thousands of dollars sitting under the hood.

"Where the hell did this come from?" Arya asks. Her fingers are itching to touch the car, to run a finger across the smooth exterior, to open the hood and feast on the mechanics.

"A guy owed me a favor," Gendry says. "It's on loan for the day."

"_A guy owed you a favor_?" Arya mimics. "Gendry, this car has to cost more than my house."

"He owed me a big favor."

Part of Arya wants to push the subject, but a bigger part of her just wants to slide into that warm leather seat and drive.

"Come on then," Gendry says. He slips a thin key out of his pocket and heads to the driver's door.

"Hey, wait a second!" Arya says. "I'm driving."

"_You _don't know where we're going."

"Well you could tell me."

"Well then it wouldn't be a surprise."

"Well I hate surprises."

"Well I don't care." Gendry gives her a pointed look. "Now get in the car."

This is not how Arya likes things to work. She likes to be in control. She likes to make the calls. And she definitely doesn't like to sit in the passenger seat. But she has to admit that she's more than a little curious to see what Gendry has planned, and after this many consecutively stressful days, maybe it'd be okay to let someone else call the shots for awhile.

"Fine," Arya says. "But once we get wherever we're going, I'm driving. Deal?"

"Deal."

Arya opens the passenger door and slides into the bucket seat. This has to be the nicest car she's ever set foot in, and she's dying to get her hands on the steering wheel. "I kind of hate you," she says as Gendry's slips the key into the ignition and the car starts with a gentle hum.

"That's okay." He takes a pair of aviator sunglasses out of the glove box and puts them on. And then he turns towards Arya and grins.

_Fuck he's attractive, _Arya thinks. She has a strong desire to jump over the seat and start going at it in the middle of the parking lot. But instead she says, "Aviators? You realize you kind of look like a douchebag, right?"

His grin widens, which only frustrates Arya further. "I think I look good," he says. "Don't you think I look good?"

"Asshole," Arya mutters, crossing her arms and sinking down into the seat. "Come on then. Let's get this show on the road."

She tries to stare straight ahead, but as they start to pull out of the lot, she can't help but glance at Gendry again.

_Fucking attractive. Way too fucking attractive._

* * *

They drive for just over an hour, taking long and winding backgrounds, the sun shining down on the open top of the car. At first, Arya is fidgety in the passenger seat, but then she slowly relaxes, letting the tension ease from her body. She closes her eyes and leans back against the headrest, bathing in the warm sun, soft wind pushing through her hair.

When he's not shifting gears, Gendry reaches over and lightly clasps Arya's hand, his thumb running easily across the skin. They don't speak. They don't need to – it's as if Gendry knows Arya needs the silence. Needs the thrumming of the engine, the whipping of the wind, and nothing else.

When Gendry eventually pulls his hand away, Arya opens her eyes, blinking to adjust to the afternoon light. In just an hour, the scenery has completely changed around them. The urban San Diego streets have transformed into long, coastal roads, and Arya can smell the salt in the air.

"Where are we?" She asks.

"Encinitas," Gendry says. "My mom used to take me here when I was a kid."

His face looks softer than usual, far-off even. Arya leans over and plants a warm kiss to his cheek.

"What was that for?" Gendry asks.

Arya shrugs. "Nothing." She clears her throat. "So what are we doing in Encinitas?"

"We're going swimming. I told you to bring a suit, didn't I?"

Arya blanches. "Gendry, it's barely seventy degrees out. The water's going to be freezing." _And I don't have a bathing suit_.

"What happened to oh-so-brave Arya Stark? Can't handle a little cold? Aren't you from like Antarctica or wherever?"

"Montana," Arya corrects. "And there's a big difference between living in the cold and swimming in it."

"Fine, fine," Gendry says. "Come on then. Let's at least walk the beach."

He drives down a few more short roads, not seeming to need directions, and eventually pulls into a deserted parking lot surrounded by sand dunes. Arya can see just a sliver of ocean over the tall piles of sand. She's only been to the ocean a handful of times in her life, and is surprised at how heavy and moist the air is, how it clings to her skin.

"Come on," Gendry says.

She steps out of the car, and he takes her hand, pulling her towards the short boardwalk. The sand is surprisingly warm under her bare feet, and as they walk, the ocean comes into full view. Arya almost gasps. It's stunning. She can't believe she's been living an hour away from something so beautiful without seeing it.

The beach is small and deserted, and it feels as if it's just Arya, Gendry, and the ocean, and the rest of the world has receded quietly away. Arya inhales deeply, trying to let the salt air cleanse her lungs. She leans against Gendry, staring out at the gentle waves. His broad body is warm against her, and she tucks her head against his shoulder.

"Sure you don't like surprises?" Gendry asks.

"Shut up," Arya mutters.

"Okay," Gendry says. He brushes a kiss against the top of her head. "Okay."

* * *

They walk along the beach for hours before finally collapsing in the sand. The sun is starting to set, casting pinks and purples across the clear water. Arya sits between Gendry's legs, and he wraps his arms around her, pulling her close, nuzzling his face in her hair.

"We should move to the beach," Gendry says.

_We? _Arya wants to ask, but she let's the comment slide.

"I bet it gets old," Arya says. "I like it like this. I would hate to stop thinking it's somewhere special to be."

"How philosophical of you," Gendry mocks gently.

"It's not philosophy, it's logic," Arya says.

"Mhmm." Gendry breathes warm air against her neck and then starts to plant soft kisses across the skin. Arya leans into the touch, her entire body falling against his. He continues to kiss her, nipping against her collarbone, sucking on the lobe of her ear, brushing against the corner of her lips.

Arya finally turns and meets his lips, kissing him fully and deeply. She feels as if she's breathing him in, melding together. She twists her body around so that she's straddling him in the sand, and his arms instantly wrap around her, gripping their bodies closer.

The beach is deserted. It's silent save for the gentle crash of the waves and their heavy breaths. Arya moves against him, feeling his desire hard against her, even through their layers of clothes. She lowers her mouth and presses kisses down the line of his jaw, making her way towards his neck. When she sucks on his adam's apple and grinds hard against him, he let's out a deep growl.

"Fuck," he moans, suddenly flipping them over so her back is pressed flat against the sand. He presses his body tightly against hers and gives her a biting kiss that sends lust flooding through her.

And then he's sliding down her body, deft fingers unbuttoning her jeans and pushing them down her legs, pulling her black underwear with it so that her bottom is bare against the gritty sand.

"Gendry," Arya starts to say, wondering what he's planning, when all of a sudden, his mouth is on her thigh, and then the top of her thigh, and then his lips are against her, and his tongue is plunging inside of her, and she's pushing wildly against him. Her fingers thread tightly through his hair, yanking at the strands. "Fuck," she mutters. "Don't stop. Don't ever fucking stop. Shit. Fuck. Fuck."

The feeling is overpowering, overwhelming, and then his hand reaches up, sliding under her shirt, reaching for her breast, rubbing the hard nipple over her bra, and Arya finally let's go the sliver of constraint she was holding onto. His tongue flicks against her again and again, and his hand moves from one breast to the next, rubbing and teasing until it all swells up within her, and she comes hard, shouting _Gendry_ as she does.

Her body collapses into the sand, and Gendry collapses on top of hers, breathing deeply. When she finally collects her breath, she manages to say, "Jesus, Gendry. You can't just— you can't just do that to people. Fuck."

He hugs her tightly and kisses the bare skin of her stomach from where her shirt had ridden up. "You're not just people," he says.

They lay like that for awhile, until Gendry starts pushing against her, pressing kisses once more across her skin, and Arya finds herself returning his favor, which leaves him a shaking mess and plastered with the most ridiculous, satisfied grin. And then, after awhile longer, they both want more, and they end up stripping each other's clothes off and fucking bare and hard in the wide open, praying that the wind drowns out the voices.

"I'm exhausted," Arya says afterwards.

They're curled together, coated in sand and sweat but not caring in the least. It's dark out, and only the moon and stars light the beach.

"You're welcome," Gendry says.

Arya half-heartedly punches him in the arm. "Not from you. Okay, not _just _from you. It's been a long week. Fuck, it's been a long month."

"I know," Gendry said. "That's why you needed this. We both did. Tomorrow, we'll get back to reality, but for now, let's just enjoy what we have right here."

"You're really cheesy, you know that, right?" Arya asks.

"You have really lame insults, you know that, right?"

Gendry stands up and tugs Arya by the hand. "Come on," he says.

"Where?"

"We need to wash off."

"Uh—" Arya stares at the dark water. "What exactly do you mean by wash off?"

Gendry gets a slow, evil grin on his face, and before Arya can use her best judgment and run away, he jumps forward, picks her up, and throws her over his shoulder.

"Oh, hell fucking no," Arya screams, but it's too late. He's already rushing them towards the ocean, running in, cold water splashing across their legs, and then he throws her far into the water.

It's freezing. Not life-or-death freezing, but close enough.

"You little piece of shit!" Arya screams. "I'm going to kill you!"

Gendry just laughs. "I'd like to see you try." And then he splashes her with a giant gush of cold water.

Arya sputters, energy suddenly rushing through her veins. "Oh, you are so not getting away with this," she says, splashing a giant wave of water right back at him.

* * *

It's past midnight by the time they get back to the car. They let themselves air dry back out on the beach before putting on their sandy clothes.

"We look ridiculous," Arya says, running fingers through her tangled her.

"I think you like nice."

"Liar."

Gendry smirks.

"Here," he says, tossing her the keys.

"All mine?" Arya asks.

"Until we get back to San Diego, yes. All yours."

Arya rushes over to the driver's door and yanks it open, hand slipping the key into the ignition before Gendry is even in the car. She can feel the power the second the engine hums to life.

She turns to Gendry and smiles. "I have to be honest, I think this is going to be my favorite part of the trip."

"I'd be shocked if you picked anything else."

Behind the sleek steering wheel, foot on the pedal of a strong engine, Arya finally feels like she's back in control of things. Like she can handle anything the Baratheons or the Lannisters throw at her.

"I hope you don't mind," Arya says, smiling. "But I'm planning on taking the long way home."

**A/N ****– flufffffff chapter! I know this story has been a lot of plot, plot, plot, so I think we all (including Arya & Gendry) deserved a break. Hope you guys enjoyed! Please read and review.**

**Also, if you don't already know, here's a reminder that I run a game of thrones tumblr. You can follow me at: winteriscoming-eventually **


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